


The Dating Charade

by idreamofdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Dating, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feminist Themes, Fic Exchange, HP: EWE, Humor, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Ginny Weasley, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Side Pairing Harry Potter/Astoria Greengrass, Side Pairing Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson, Smut, Travel, Wordcount: Over 50.000, Work In Progress, Workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 85,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofdraco/pseuds/idreamofdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a case of workplace sexual harassment leaves Ginny in a truly desperate state, the natural thing to do is to convince Draco Malfoy to pretend to be her boyfriend. Naturally.</p><p>Written for SunnyStorms in The DG Forum's 2015 Winter Fic Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tiny Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunnyStorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyStorms/gifts).



> Thanks to rowan_greenleaf and my friend, D, for beta-ing the first few chapters of this story for me! The prompt will follow at the end of each chapter.
> 
> As a warning, this story _is_ about sexual harassment, but I don't think the instances shown are too triggering or anything. (And Draco is not the sexual harasser.)

By the time Ginny spotted her supervisor, Jason Junker, approaching the elevator, it was too late. The doors inched closed, mocking her as she desperately mashed the button for Level Four. Just before the two sheets of metal met, a hand wedged between them, preventing them from sealing shut.

The doors opened, and Jason smiled at Ginny, which made her shudder in revulsion.

“Going down?” he asked.

“Actually, I was just getting off,” she replied, but as she made a move to exit the elevator, Jason reached in front of her, blocking her path to press the button for Level Six.

“You wouldn’t get off without me, would you?” he asked. His teasing smile might have been wide and charming to another woman, but Ginny only saw his leer as he eyed her up and down.

The words themselves had been innocent enough, but coming from Jason Junker’s mouth, they made her flush red in embarrassment and anger.

“I love it when your cheeks turn that color,” he said with admiration. Then his eyes drifted lower again. “I wonder how far down the blush goes?”

Now Ginny was wishing she hadn’t gone up to Level Two to eat lunch with her dad. If she’d gone out or stayed in her cubicle, she never would have run into Junker. The only way she would make it through this encounter was by ignoring him and focusing on something else. She tuned in to the sound of the elevator gliding down through the earth and the ding when they reached Level Three. She hoped it would stop so someone else could get in, or so she could get out and catch the next lift, but for once in her miserable career, they had the elevator car all to themselves.

Her foot tapped against the ground impatiently. It should not have taken this long to move down two floors. She only tuned back into Junker when he placed his hand on her bum, which prompted Ginny to jump back.

“Get your hands off me!” she cried, her wand drawn and pointed at his face.

He raised his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture, but he wasn’t intimidated at all. He didn't seem to even notice the threat of her wand as he eyed her breasts in a way that was too obvious to be anything but deliberate. “Come on, babe. I was just testing the merchandise.”

Ginny’s heart raced in her chest. Jason Junker had been harassing her for weeks, ever since he’d been promoted from Spirit Division Mediator to Division Head. At first she had humored his invasive questions about her former relationship with Harry since such questions were hardly a new experience for her. Ginny had thought he, like everyone else in the wizarding world, had been curious about their breakup and wanted information straight from the source, but then his comments and questions had grown more risqué and inappropriate.

Ginny had taken his comments with as much grace as possible considering his new status as her direct supervisor—until, that is, he’d insinuated in not so many words that Ginny had had a polyamorous and incestuous relationship with all six of her brothers. Then he had crossed a line, and now Ginny knew that there was something terribly disgusting and wrong with this man, and she had very little power to do anything about it. 

“I’m not merchandise,” Ginny seethed, “and I am never going to sleep with you, so stop trying to get in my knickers!”

“Why not? You don't have a boyfriend,” he replied with a smirk.

A vein in Ginny’s temple throbbed and her wand trembled thanks to her shaking hand. She was angry but also frustrated and afraid. Every person she’d ever hexed, whether back at Hogwarts or after, had been deterred from ever bothering her again. Not Jason Junker. Apparently Bat Bogey Hexes gave him boners.

“Is that what it will take to get you to stop?” she asked, at her wit’s end.

Junker’s brows scrunched down over his eyes, his expression solemn for the first time since he’d stepped inside the elevator. “Of course,” he answered. “I would never encroach on someone else’s territory.”

Relief surged through Ginny’s body, and the shaking in her limbs imperceptibly ceased.

“Well, I do! I do have a boyfriend!”

A knowing smile returned to his face. “You’re just saying that to play coy. I know no one else has a claim on you. So why not me?”

He was right in a sense. No one had a claim on her because her body was not a commercial good to be traded or bought, auctioned off to the highest bidder, or given to the first person who laid eyes on her.

The chime dinged as the elevator reached Level Four and the doors opened to reveal Draco Malfoy, waiting for a ride down.

Ginny stepped out of the lift and locked her arm around Malfoy’s arm. “This is my boyfriend!” she said to Junker.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Malfoy asked, his face a picture of outraged confusion.

“Draco Malfoy? What are you, a Niffler? You'd never stoop so low,” Junker said with confidence.

His smirk was so infuriating, it drove Ginny to do something she never would have done if she hadn’t been pushed to desperation. “Wanna bet?” she said before she grabbed the lapels of Malfoy’s robes and pulled him down to her in a hard, open-mouthed kiss.

Malfoy, shocked by her actions, stood frozen for a moment, but it didn’t take him long at all to thaw. His arms reached around her back, tugging her against him as if to combine them into one being. His tongue dragged over hers, sending shivers down to her toes, and without thinking, her hands roamed up into his hair, her fingers entwining in the locks at the nape of his neck, preventing him from escaping. Not that he seemed to want to. 

When her brain finally caught up with her impulsive actions, she jumped away, her hands springing off his head as if he had just turned into a Dungbomb. Malfoy, however, looked drugged, with glazed eyes and red, swollen lips. The sight of him so well-kissed sent a wave of horror and arousal through Ginny’s body, and while she suddenly never wanted to leave Malfoy’s arms, she also wished he would let go of her.

While they had been snogging in front of the lift, Junker had been carried away to another floor, and a group of people had gathered around to watch them.

Now Ginny’s face flushed red—redder than it already was—and Malfoy had collected his wits enough to finally let her go.

“What was _that_ all about, Weasley?” he asked, his outraged tone tempered by the seemingly involuntary way his fingers poked his lips.

“Yeah, what was that all about, Ginny?” Ron said, as he pushed through the crowd.

Perhaps Ginny only imagined him snorting steam out of his nose, but steam or no steam, the sight of her brother did nothing to mitigate her sudden anxiety at how this situation had erupted beyond her control.

It might have been easier to tell her brother the truth, explain the circumstances behind his finding her completely intertwined with Draco Malfoy at work. But part of her felt like a failure for not being able to handle Junker. She’d always taken care of herself. Ever since Harry had saved her from the Chamber of Secrets, she had vowed not to need anyone’s assistance again and to never be as stupid as she’d been at eleven years of age.

Jason Junker made her feel incredibly incapable and stupid, and she _was_ ashamed that nothing she had tried on him had deterred him in the slightest. She’d been polite and harsh in her rejection of him. She’d physically withdrawn and pushed him away. When she’d finally resorted to using magic against him, his tiny dick had stood straight at attention, and he’d leered at her through flying bogies and a face full of shiny, red boils. Then he’d threatened to fire her if she tried to hex him again. The Ministry didn’t have a policy about this sort of behavior, so she’d taken it upon herself to stop the harassment, but nothing she did mattered to Junker.

Unless she had a boyfriend.

In those few moments after Ron questioned her, Ginny made a decision. She couldn’t admit to anyone, especially her overprotective brothers, that she couldn’t save herself.

“What was what all about? You saw, didn’t you? I was kissing my boyfriend.”

She stared straight at Ron, pointedly ignoring Malfoy, but she saw his head turn toward her, and she prayed to wizard God that he wouldn’t rat her out.

Ron was clearly apoplectic with outrage at the word ‘boyfriend,’ as evidenced by his face turning the exact same shade of red as half of Gryffindor’s House colors and his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.

_“Since when!”_ The words came out strangled as he attempted to control his volume. There was no need to draw back the crowd that had only just dispersed.

Ginny couldn’t help it. She glanced over at Malfoy, whose expression was infuriatingly blank. She took that as a sign that he would play along.

“At—at least a week. Let me see.” She looked down at her shaking hands, wriggling each finger as she pretended to count. “Yes, a week. We’ve been dating a week. We’re dating,” she said, and the nervousness wasn’t even feigned.

She was shocked, but quickly hid it, when Malfoy took a step closer to her and placed his hand on the small of her back. Not only was the gesture unexpected, but the fact that his hand didn’t sink any lower to grope her also came as a surprise. She realized then how paranoid and mistrusting she’d become since the start of Junker’s harassment.

Malfoy’s next words sent another spike of shock through her, making her whole body jump.

“Do you have a problem with that, Weasley?” he said to Ron. He drew Ginny a little closer to his side. Combined with his challenge, he almost seemed… protective of Ginny.

“Yeah, actually, I do! What do you think you’re doing? She’s my sister! Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend! She’s a Weasley!”

“Do _not_ define me by my relationships, Ron!” Ginny said, her temper rising quickly. “I don’t _belong_ to anyone. Least of all to you or Harry, so don’t treat me like the only thing that I am is who I am to someone else. I’m my own person, and Malfoy sees that. Don’t you?”

She turned on him, and his eyebrows arched high on his forehead, the expression on his face either surprised or impressed; she couldn’t really tell and didn’t care.

“Yes, I know that,” Malfoy said, turning his attention back to Ron. “I know exactly who and what she is. I’ll thank you to mind your own business and remove your elongated nose from our relationship. Come along, dearest.”

Then he swept Ginny away from the lobby and the lift, away from Ron and the few people from the previous crowd who had decided to linger. He escorted her straight to her cubicle, and it wasn’t until she was sitting in her chair that he finally removed his hands from her body, but Ginny was still reeling and hardly noticed.

He trapped her in the chair by placing his hands on the arms and leaning down over her. She was only mildly conscious of how the two of them would have looked if any of her coworkers had passed by in that moment. His mouth descended to her ear, and Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed, waiting for the feel of his lips on her skin. Hopefully on her neck. That was a particularly sensitive area.

Instead he whispered, “I expect you to explain what just happened, because I am still, as I’m sure you can imagine, very confused. And intrigued, but mostly confused.”

Gooseflesh popped up all over Ginny’s arms, and her nerves caused her to giggle, which of course made their situation look worse. She knew as soon as Malfoy left that her three most gossipy coworkers—whose cubicles conveniently surrounded Ginny’s—would pounce on her for information.

He rose to his full height, and at a normal volume announced, “Dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Yes, okay,” was all she could say.

Malfoy left and the gossip vultures swooped in. Ginny answered their questions to the best of her ability, but she was in a daze.

o o o o

Ginny was so distracted for the rest of the afternoon, she didn’t realize Colin was in her cubicle until she stood up for a bathroom break. The sight of him startled her back into her chair, and a little scream came out of her mouth. Her coworkers didn’t inquire as to her well-being as these kinds of reactions were fairly common in the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“Colin! Don’t do that!” Ginny cried. At the fright she’d received, she thought her heart was going to beat straight out of her chest. She put her hand on top of it to quell the pounding.

“Sorry,” he replied, smiling and shrugging sheepishly. “It’s a little difficult to make noise when your body doesn’t belong in the physical plane.”

A pang always echoed painfully inside her rib cage when Colin came to visit her. He looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him, at the Battle of Hogwarts three and a half years ago, except for the small detail that he was transparent as smoke. And dead.

He hovered over the extra chair in her cubicle, pretending to sit in it with his chin resting on his palm. “I’ve been hearing rumors,” he said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Here we go,” she muttered.

“It’s just that last I heard, you were depressingly single.”

“I am perfectly happy single!” she corrected him.

“Oh, so you _are_ single? Because that's not what I'm hearing.”

This wasn’t the place to have this conversation, not when she was almost positive her coworkers kept extra pairs of Extendable Ears around their desks to pick up all the office gossip. She stood up from her chair, and with a glare at Colin said, “Interview room. Now.”

“I’ll meet you there!” he replied with a smile, and then he zoomed through her cubicle wall—and through one of her coworkers by the sound of the shocked gasp that floated out of the neighboring cube.

Since ghosts weren’t capable of filling out applications or writing down complaints, the interview room was where spirits met with a Spirit Division Mediator to fill out their paperwork. When Ginny entered the room, Colin was already sitting in the chair usually reserved for the Mediator, so she took a seat on the stool on the other side of the table. Ghosts had no need to sit, but sometimes having something to float over and pretend to perch on made them feel more alive and normal. Years, decades, and even centuries after death, sometimes living habits were hard to break.

“Tell me everything,” Colin said, and Ginny did, from Jason Junker’s first interactions with her soon after his promotion all the way down to Malfoy pretending to take her on a date. Colin leaned over the interview table, his chin perched in both of his hands as he listened intently.

It was a little disconcerting the way he did that. In life, Colin had been enthusiastic and intense in his passions, and that hadn’t changed in death. Ginny couldn’t help but feel that his enthusiasm now stemmed from his desire to live vicariously through living people, Ginny especially. None of his other friends or family members knew that Colin still roamed the earth as a spirit. He’d been too embarrassed to show his face to them, and he’d only revealed himself to Ginny accidentally, when he’d contacted the Spirit Division for counseling a couple years after his death and she’d been on duty to greet him.

Once he’d evaded his true death, he’d become stuck on Earth, bound forever to the mortal plane. Sometimes they joked about how hokey that sounded: “the mortal plane.” But mostly it was too depressing to talk about Colin’s death, so they tried to ignore the fact that his body was transparent and immaterial—sometimes they succeeded in forgetting.

Colin floated through the air, tapping his chin as he considered the situation. “So how long are you going to keep up this act? What are you going to tell your family? What about his family? What if Malfoy doesn’t go along with it?” He zoomed up to Ginny, his torso bisected by the table, his eyes wide in shock. “What if Malfoy _blackmails_ you? What if—”

“Colin,” Ginny said, stopping him mid-sentence. Her hand rose to cover his mouth, but halfway up, she remembered what a silly gesture that would have been and lowered her arm again. “I don’t know, okay? I wasn’t thinking. I… I kind of expected the whole thing to end right there at the lift. But then a crowd of people showed up, and then _Ron_ showed up…. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mum already knows.”

“Well, you’ve got to convince Junker at least, right? Otherwise, what was the point in the lie in the first place? I could keep an eye on him for you. You know, follow him around until I’m sure he’s moved on from you to someone else.”

Ginny shuddered at the thought of Jason Junker turning his attention onto another unsuspecting woman. Then she frowned, wishing she’d been able to shame—or hex—some sense into him so that his disgusting behavior would stop. She couldn’t just release him into the world to terrorize women around the Ministry. If she didn’t do something to stop him, she’d be just as complicit in his harassment.

“That’s a good idea,” she said to Colin. His eyebrows rose skeptically as she continued. “I mean, don’t haunt him or anything, but keep an eye out and your ears open. Tell me if he gives up on me and who he sets his sights on next. Can you do that?”

He grinned so wide, he might have just received an autographed photo of Harry. “I’ll get started right away!” he said, and before Ginny could stop him, he disappeared through the wall.

When she returned to her cubicle, an inter-departmental memo was hovering over her desk. As soon as she sat down, it began to poke her head with an incessant persistence. Part of her expected it to be from her mum, which was silly of course. Then her mind drifted to Malfoy as she pulled the paper airplane out of her hair and opened it.

But it wasn’t from Malfoy, either.

_What a naughty girl you are lying to me like that. Good thing you’re too beautiful to stay angry at for long. Drop the act with Malfoy; I know you’re not really dating him, nor would you ever consider it._

_But just in case you needed a little persuasion in my direction, here’s one asset I have that I’m sure Malfoy doesn’t._

Ginny unfolded the last flap of the memo and then cried, _“Holy fuck!”_

A chair scraped against the floor in the cubicle behind her as Rose Bloomgarden, the nosiest of her coworkers, said, “Ginny?”

Ginny dove down to the ground to pick up the memo and the photograph Junker had sent along with it, stuffing them into her purse just as Rose reached the entrance of Ginny’s cube.

“All right in there?” she asked.

Ginny tried to smile, but her lips were trembling in anger. “I’m fine!” she said, her voice pitched half an octave higher in her distress. “I just”—she cleared her throat—“I just stubbed my toe, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” Rose said, but her eyes widened as she quickly scanned the cubicle for something to gossip to her friends about later. “Can I get you anything?”

“No! Er, I mean, really, I’m fine. I’ll just take a look at it, and, uh, use a healing spell if necessary. Everything’s A-okay in here!”

Her coworker sniffed as she left, clearly disappointed, and Ginny threw herself down into her chair and lightly banged her head against her desk.

“Why is it so _small_?” she asked herself. She hoped, for Malfoy’s sake, that Malfoy was better endowed than Jason.

Her face burned as she remembered the way he’d kissed her earlier—or the way she'd kissed him. She didn’t need to think about any of Malfoy’s endowments or skills. But with them on her mind anyway, she tried to salvage the rest of her work day… and failed.


	2. A Dinner Date

The street on which Weasley lived was not one Draco had ever set foot on before, and not only because it was located in a Muggle part of London. The buildings might have been new two decades ago, which wasn’t too bad as far as middle class, non-magical residents were concerned. Not everyone could live in a centuries-old mansion in Wiltshire, he conceded. But for their lack of culture and wealth, the shops and residences could have seen some better upkeep at least. Each window he passed looked grimy and in need of a good washing, paint peeled from the doors, and weeds grew in the small yards in front of some of the buildings. He kept both hands in his pockets, one wrapped around his wand, the other secure on his money pouch, untrusting of the shady people walking down the street or entering and leaving the dilapidated buildings. He eyed one blithe old lady carrying shopping bags with particular caution. Who shopped for groceries at seven in the evening? 

Maybe Muggles had lower standards of living, but it seemed Ginevra Weasley, a woman born and raised in filth and poverty, felt quite at home in the squalor.

He looked at the piece of parchment on which Ginevra’s address was written and spotted her building just across the street. Her door was set next to the entrance to a small market, but the windows were dark and clearly the business was closed. There was a buzzer next to Weasley’s door, which Draco only knew how to operate thanks to the instruction given to him by Colin Creevey’s enthusiastic ghost. Still, just to spite the very idea of Muggle technology, he knocked on the door and waited.

When no one answered, he knocked again, this time more insistently. It was nearly seven already, and the fact that she hadn’t answered his first knock irritated him quite a bit. He was just about to pull out his wand and let himself in when the door swung open.

Weasley’s face paled at the sight of him, and she grabbed the neck of her dressing gown. “M-M-Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

His eyebrows lifted as he eyed her from head to toe. Her cotton robe might have once been blue, but it was frayed and faded to almost white, and her fluffy purple slippers were ghastly just because she’d chosen to spend money on them.

“Dinner. Seven o’clock. Remember?” He should have been annoyed that she’d forgotten, but instead he found her amusing. Her embarrassment and shock were the most entertaining displays he’d seen since his early days at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the war had sapped a lot of amusement from the world, and his current Ministry career was as dull as dragon dung—and perhaps even less useful. When Ginevra Weasley had locked her arms around him and kissed him, all the color and flare life used to have seemed to suddenly return.

“I thought you were _joking_! You know, playing along! I didn’t think for a second that you were serious!”

“Now you know that I was. Are you going to get dressed or will I have to cancel my reservation?”

Her eyes narrowed, and the door slid closed an inch. “I am not going to dinner with you. Forget it.”

Draco sighed. “I really think it’s the least you can do after you accosted me at work. The news traveled all the way down to Level Six, and while I am now the envy of Magical Transportation, I would really like to understand why. Maybe you can understand why that would be important to me.”

His eyes were drawn to the way her teeth pressed into her fleshy lower lip, reminding him of how she’d nipped his earlier that day in front of the lifts, and his whole body felt warm at the memory. It was completely idiotic, but he’d been having hot flashes all afternoon just thinking about her and that kiss. He hadn’t been able to get home fast enough for a quick wank to release the tension.

“Okay, fine. You might as well come in while I get ready. Just don’t touch anything.”

“Like I’d steal anything from you,” he muttered as she closed the door behind him.

There was a staircase on the right leading up into what looked like a loft bedroom, and on the left, the hallway led straight to a small living area and an open kitchen.

“Sit here,” she said without much enthusiasm, gesturing to a low, lumpy looking loveseat covered in hand-knitted throws. “I’ll be back.”

The soft padding of her feet could be heard ascending the stairs and then above his head as she rushed around her bedroom looking for clothes. Draco stood up and gave himself a tour of the first floor of her flat. It was smaller than his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, but much more colorful and warm than what he was used to. She had an eclectic taste. None of the furniture matched, and her decor seemed themed around do-it-yourself projects. He picked up a rugged coffee mug from a side table, turning the hunk of hollowed out clay until he found some initials on the bottom: LL. Everything in the room was either handmade or handed down. He scrunched his nose at the tackiness.

Feet pounded back down the stairs and Weasley appeared in the living room, saying a little breathlessly, “Okay, I’m ready.” She held a pair of black platform heels in one hand, a shiny, gold handbag in the other. And for a rush job getting ready, she looked stunning. Better than he thought she could look, honestly.

Her dress covered her for the most part, the wide neckline hiding any décolletage but still revealing the long line of her neck. The dress flared out at her waist and ended just above her knees. As she hopped around the room trying to stuff her feet into her shoes, he noticed that the back of the dress plunged, baring an expanse of smooth skin from her neck almost all the way to the small of her back.

“You clean up well,” he said, and he’d meant it to sound like an insult, but instead it came out a little choked. Luckily she didn’t notice as she put on a coat that had been draped over the loveseat.

“Thank you. I do try to make an effort for my boyfriends,” she answered drily. “Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “Do you have anti-Apparition wards on your… home?”

“Not currently.”

Draco held out his hand. “Well, then. Shall we?”

She eyed his outstretched hand, hesitation clear in her eyes, but she sighed and took what he offered.

He tightened his grip and pulled her closer just before Apparating them away to Hogsmeade.

o o o o

“Malfoy, this is a lot fancier than I was expecting for a pretend date,” she muttered uneasily as Draco pushed in her chair before taking a seat across the table from her. “I can’t afford this.” Her ears burned red at her admission, even though it was no secret to him that such luxuries as fine dining didn’t fit into her budget.

“Money talk is so crude. Don’t worry about the bill. Just enjoy your food and tell me what happened earlier today.”

She picked up her menu, her eyes narrowed at him with wary attention. She looked like a skittish cat, prepared to flee at the slightest noise.

“You’re being very generous despite the circumstances,” she said.

Draco smirked. Yes, it would look like he was being generous, wouldn’t it? But he had his reasons for her special treatment. No woman since Pansy Parkinson—now Pansy Nott—had thrown herself at Draco the way Weasley had done at work that day, and the gesture quite warmed him up to her. She’d been pretty and popular back at Hogwarts, but she’d also been Harry Potter’s girlfriend, which had made her instantly unattractive in Draco’s eyes, even if her lack of good breeding hadn’t. Now, though, she was single, and without Potter’s obnoxious shine obscuring her from view, he could see what a beautiful woman she had grown into.

It wasn’t just her curves, her strong legs and shapely arms, her narrow waist and wide bust. There was something in her face Draco had never noticed before, even if he’d cared to look. She drew people in easily, even though she was brash and prone to act before thinking. That was clear from her actions earlier that afternoon.

He decided not to comment and instead put his menu down, his meal already decided. Weasley copied him, her face a little flushed.

“I can’t read French,” she said.

“That’s all right,” he replied. “I know just what to order.”

The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and left with their orders, leaving the two of them alone. Weasley seemed nervous under Draco’s gaze, her fingers stroking and fidgeting with her handbag in her lap.

“So,” Draco prompted. “What did I save you from today and why did you need saving?”

His words clearly irked her if the sudden crease in her brow and tightening around her mouth was anything to go by. Instead of answering, she opened her purse and pulled out a lavender, folded piece of parchment, pushing it across the table to Draco.

He kept his face composed as he opened the parchment to find a photograph of a penis… or perhaps a rather large pustule? He turned the photo sideways for a different angle. No, that was definitely supposed to be a penis, though why someone would take a picture of such a small thing, Draco wasn’t sure, unless the photograph was being used for documentation. Like, for science.

“I had no idea, Weasley, that this is what hides underneath your knickers,” he said.

“That’s not _mine_ , Malfoy. It’s Jason Junker’s. He’s been harassing me for weeks and nothing I’ve done to try to stop him has worked.” She nodded towards the photo, which Draco had placed on the tabletop face down. “He sent me that this afternoon, after our, er, interlude. Read the note!”

He did, and he frowned, disgusted by Junker’s lack of class and the tone of desperation that was clear in his words. Men like Junker tried to hide that desperation behind false bravado, but the only way for him to obtain women was for him to force himself onto them, giving them no choice in the matter at all.

“So, what, you told him I was your boyfriend so he would leave you alone? Clearly it didn’t work,” he said, shaking the note in his hand.

Weasley grimaced and gulped down a few sips of her wine. “He told me he wouldn’t touch someone else’s girl. He—he clearly thinks women are objects for him to use at his own discretion for his own pleasure, and while he doesn’t respect us at all, he does respect the hold other men have on us.” She grew angrier as she went on, the wine and her frustration going straight to her head, making her face flush the same shade of red as her hair. “So I grabbed the first person to cross our paths, you, and I told Jason that you were my boyfriend. I’m sorry it turned into… something bigger, with my brother and the crowd and the kiss….”

Draco waved his hand dismissively. “No need to apologize for that kiss. The pleasure was truly all mine.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she disagreed.

“Come again?”

Smoke could have streamed from her ears, that’s how red her face was, her anger swiftly turning into discomfort. She lifted her glass to her lips again, this time taking a smaller, slower sip.

“The pleasure wasn’t _all_ yours. It was mine, too.” Then her words raced out of her mouth, tripping over each other to be spoken before he could interrupt. “So I had this idea. Maybe, if you could find it in the goodness of your heart, maybe we could… continue pretending. Jason obviously didn’t believe me earlier, and he won’t stop harassing me until I become unavailable to him. If we pretend to date for long enough, maybe that will convince him to leave me the hell alone. And Ron’s already heard the lie. It won’t be long until my whole family demands an explanation.”

Draco couldn’t have fathomed the words that came out of Weasley’s mouth until the proof of them was there in front of him. He’d had an inkling that Weasley had been using him to make someone jealous or turn someone away, but that she would want to continue lying by creating a farce of a relationship was beyond his wildest imaginings.

“Why not explain all this to your family, then?” he asked, more serious now than he’d been all evening.

She slumped in her chair and groaned. “I can’t. I just can’t. I was possessed by the soul of an evil sixteen-year-old when I was eleven! After that, I always fought for the beaten and downtrodden, even when the school bullies turned into Death Eaters.”

Draco bristled at that, but she was clearly ranting, spewing words without much thought as to who exactly she spoke to.

“I fought in a battle where greater wizards than I lost their lives. I have never let anyone underestimate me because of my size or my gender. It would be humiliating to admit to my family that I can’t handle this one man on my own. How do I tell them that even though I suffered through multiple applications of Unforgivable Curses by Death Eaters during the war, a single perverted coworker has the ability to make me fear him? I can’t tell anyone about this!”

He didn’t point out that she’d just told him about it. Draco considered her situation as their meal was delivered to their table. Neither of them picked up their forks after the waiter left, the heavy topic certainly sitting like lead in both of their stomachs.

If Draco had goodness in his heart he would have told her immediately, “Yes, let’s do it. I will save you from your enemy by pretending to be your boyfriend.” But he wasn’t some Gryffindor willing to stand up for what was right, just because it was the right thing to do. There were so many other things to consider, like, you know, actually having to pretend to date a Weasley, for one—the required interactions with her family, for another. Draco was a bachelor with all the perks of a single man with too much money spend. What would he get in return for helping her?

He finally picked up his fork and knife to cut into his duck, considering all his options carefully. Well, the best perk of dating Ginevra Weasley would definitely be her family’s and ex-boyfriend’s reactions to their relationship. Just imagining Potter’s face when he saw Draco’s arm around Ginevra’s waist drew out a delighted smile. Ron had already thrown an apoplectic fit, and his red hair and quick temper guaranteed more outbursts like the one he’d displayed at work that day.

Then there was the girlfriend in question herself. It was already quite obvious to him that he was attracted to her. Somehow, they had amazing chemistry together—she’d even admitted to feeling it, too. Even if he couldn’t pursue her for a physical relationship (and chemistry or not, he figured she would not welcome such advances from anyone at the moment, never mind him), she was pretty to look at and dating her would only help his reputation.

Sooo, faking a relationship with Ginevra Weasley, a pro and con list:

Cons:

  * She was a Weasley, enough said. 
  * Draco probably wouldn’t physically benefit from being in a relationship with her. 
  * The whole ordeal would be tedious and troublesome and interfere with his bachelor status.



Pros:

  * He’d have the benefit of having a beautiful woman on his arm.
  * His name linked with hers, while a mix that made him shudder in revulsion, would improve his reputation in society—or, conversely, his reputation would ruin hers. That was a win-win situation there.
  * Dating her might get his mother off his back about marrying as soon as possible. Even if that didn't work, a relationship with a Weasley was sure to annoy Narcissa Malfoy.
  * He would have _endless_ opportunities to embarrass her in front of her family and, best of all, piss off Potter and his annoying sidekicks.



The choice was clear.

“I’ll do it,” he announced.

_“‘Cue me?”_ she said with her mouth full. After forcefully swallowing, she repeated herself. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll do it. I’ll help you. I will, out of the goodness of my heart, pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” she asked incredulously, her eyes wide and confused.

“I just said,” he repeated slowly, “out of the goodness of my heart. Can’t I do the right thing just because it’s the right thing to do?”

He smiled blithely at her when her eyes narrowed in distrust, quite enjoying her bemusement.

“I’ve never known you to,” she replied. “But if you’re serious, we need to lay some ground rules.”

“Naturally.”

“Number one, we will be _faking_ a relationship. No matter how much either of us enjoyed the last kiss, there won’t be any others. No kissing, and don’t expect to sleep with me, because it’s not going to happen.”

“Only if you rid yourself of any notions of sleeping with me as well,” he said, his smile widening under her glare.

She continued, mostly ignoring him. “Number two, please be civil with my friends and family. Things will probably be… tense, but if we’re going to be convincing, you have to at least try.”

“As long as you’re civil with mine.”

“Yours?” she asked, brought up short by his interruption.

“Of course.” He picked up his glass and swirled his wine. “If you want us to be convincing, my parents and friends will have to be convinced as well. You didn’t think we’d be able to go through with this charade without their knowing about it, did you?”

“A girl could hope,” she said, her jaws clenched tight.

“Am I irritating you?” Draco asked, utterly pleased with himself. At the very least, she’d forgotten about Jason Junker and how he frightened her, but Draco didn’t irritate her for her benefit. He enjoyed irking her. The brilliant flush of color in her cheeks brought light to his dismal, dull existence.

He hadn’t had this much fun since his pre-Dark Lord Hogwarts years, when his only concern had been how best to humiliate and annoy Potter and his friends while helping Gryffindor lose House points.

“And lastly—”

“What about my rules?” Draco asked.

“Yours?” she questioned.

“I only have one, and I think you’ll agree it’s necessary for the ruse.”

She chewed her food in silence, and only the slight wrinkle in her brow and the tight grip on her silverware alerted Draco to her tense state. An involuntary frown formed on his face, his displeasure at Junker magnifying each time she showed distrust towards him.

Of course, she had every right to distrust Draco. They had never been friends, only antagonistic acquaintances, and he’d done some things that she, as righteous and moral as she was, would consider unthinkable and unforgivable. But her wariness now wasn’t a result of their past; the cause rest entirely at Jason Junker's doorstep. He had given all men a bad name in her eyes, and frankly Draco was furious about it, because not all men were like Junker. Maybe a part of him wanted to show her that.

“It’s simple, really,” he said, the tension in his own voice making her look up from her dinner plate. “You will have to call me Draco, and I will have to call you Ginevra.”

“It’s Ginny,” she corrected.

“Ginevra’s fine.”

When she merely rolled her eyes and didn’t clench her teeth or her fists, Draco considered that a victory.

They finished their meal in relative silence. The way she avoided his gaze, looking around the restaurant or keeping her eyes fastened to her plate, she seemed uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, but Draco spent the rest of their evening together studying her. He’d never noticed before, but her hair was a lighter shade of red than her brother Ron’s, a little more blonde than orange, though still unmistakably ginger. She had it pinned away from her face, while leaving the rest to fall in tumultuous waves down to the middle of her back.

Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose, standing out against her creamy skin. From far away they might have looked splotchy, like scars from some kind of pox, but up close he could see each individual one. She might have been prettier without them, but he had to admit they did not detract from her natural beauty.

Unlike her brother’s tall and lanky form, she had a petite, athletic build that made her look useful. How her brother managed as an Auror with his awkward limbs, Draco couldn’t even fathom, and why she hadn’t played Quidditch after Hogwarts, he didn’t know.

The meal passed quickly—too quickly for Draco’s liking if he were honest with himself. She’d been pleasant enough company, but he supposed she wasn’t in a position to be antagonistic towards him when she needed his help and he was paying for dinner. They collected their coats from the hostess and then stepped onto the street.

The temperature had dropped since they’d left earlier that evening, but they took shelter from the wind in the alley next to the restaurant. Draco offered his arm, and as soon as Ginevra took it, he Apparated them back to the living room in her flat.

She stepped away from him, her brow furrowed. “Hey, Malfoy,” she began.

“Draco,” he reminded her.

Her lips tightened in a quick grimace before correcting herself. “Right, Draco. How did you know where I live?”

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, already bracing himself for the outside chill. “I work in Magical Transportation. I was going to look up your Floo account, but your dead friend Creevey gave your address to me before I had the chance to look through your file.”

Her mouth gaped open, and her eyes were wide in shock. “Colin? But he hasn’t shown himself to _anyone_ since he died!”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, bit of a nasty shock for me. Found him sitting in my chair in my office.”

She couldn’t seem to help herself when the corners of her lips jerked up into a smile. “He does like to do that.” Then her eyes narrowed. “I think he and I are going to have to have another little talk.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” he said. “The poor guy’s already dead.”

“Yes, thanks for that,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, um, thank you for dinner and for agreeing to help. I owe you big time.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe you can tell me more about being possessed by the spirit of an evil sixteen-year-old.”

“It was a really personal and traumatic event. What makes you think I'd tell you anything about that?”

The quirk of her lips implied she meant the words in a teasing manner, which was a strange concept for Draco to wrap his head around— _Witty banter with a Weasley? Had the world ended?_ —but not unenjoyable in the slightest.

“Well, I am your boyfriend now, and you should be able to confide in me,” he replied with a shrug. 

“We'll work up to that. For now, I'll just say goodnight.”

Draco did the same, and then he Apparated back to the gates of Malfoy Manor. As he walked down the lane to the house, he considered the day he’d had at work and the evening that had followed.

He could honestly say he hadn’t had this much excitement in years. As he thought about the days ahead, and all of the people he had the opportunity to infuriate and humiliate, a wide smile stretched across his lips.

Draco Malfoy was back in business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines "It's Ginny."/"Ginevra's fine." are inspired by the opening number of A Very Potter Musical where Ginny says "It's Ginevra," and Harry responds with "Cool, Ginny's fine."
> 
>  
> 
> I hope it's obvious that Ginny's neighborhood is not dilapidated in the slightest. Draco's just being an idiot. ;)


	3. A Stressful Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a little change to the timeline of the story. This is taking place in November 2001, three and a half years after the Battle of Hogwarts, not two as originally mentioned in the first chapter. It was a brief detail, so no worries if you didn't pick up on it. I just needed to straighten it out so I could figure out who left Hogwarts when and how old everyone is. :)

Three owls sat at Ginny’s kitchen table, staring at her while mostly ignoring the presence of the others. The first, a regal eagle owl that looked massive in her tiny dining area, turned its head as if to dismiss whatever it had seen in Ginny. The second, excitable and tiny in comparison, hopped up and down on the back of its chair, wings flapping wildly. The third, bland in personality next to the previous two owls, blinked slowly, wobbling in a worrisome way as if about to fall asleep at any moment. 

Ginny could guess who had sent each owl, and reluctance to retrieve their deliveries froze her to her spot. The owls waited patiently, except for Pigwidgeon, who was never patient. If it came to a stare down, Ginny knew she would lose, so she took a deep breath and approached Malfoy’s owl first.

“I guess you’re not dropping off early Christmas cards,” she said with a nervous laugh. The owl shot her a cutting glance. Clearly he didn’t think she was funny.

Attached to his leg was a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. She unfolded the newspaper and saw in bold, black words near the middle of the front page “Potter Ex and Malfoy Dine in Luxury, pg 5A.” The blood drained out of her face and her pulse sped up as she turned to the appropriate page to see a large photograph of Malfoy and her at dinner the night before along with an accompanying article. The photo had been taken at an angle behind Ginny. She was leaning over the table a bit, the back of her dress (or lack thereof) in plain view as she pushed Junker’s note and photo across the table to Malfoy. His eyebrows rose as he looked at what she’d given him before his eyes flitted up to hers. Then the photograph started over, with Ginny leaning over the table again.

With a great feeling of doom, Ginny closed the _Prophet_ and placed it face down on her cluttered dining room table. Pigwidgeon tweeted loudly as she passed him to take her mum’s letter from Errol and then gave a forlorn hoot of disappointment, but Ginny had bigger problems than hurting her brother’s owl’s feelings. She was just lucky her mother hadn’t sent a Howler.

The letter simply read:

_Ginevra,_

_Please bring Mr. Malfoy with you to Saturday lunch. Leave the provocative dress at home._

Ginny knew she was in trouble when her mother called her by her full first name. She rolled her eyes at the second sentence—that dress had been perfectly tasteful!—and put the letter down.

If Malfoy’s owl could smirk, he would have been smirking right then. Errol, on the other hand, looked a little drunk on his feet.

“Well, the both of you can beat it,” Ginny hissed, waving her arms at the birds.

The eagle owl nipped at her hand before departing out the kitchen window while Errol flapped his wings uselessly and steadied himself on his perch.

Ginny frowned and left him as she finally turned to Pig, who hooted with too much excitement over his delivery.

 _We need to talk. —H_ was all the last letter said.

Based on the brevity of the messages, no one seemed to be very talkative that morning. Well, Ginny didn’t feel like talking, either. She sent both birds away with a treat (tiny Pig had to help Errol into the air) before she finished getting dressed for work. As soon as she arrived at her cubicle, she wished she’d called in sick and stayed home.

The massive bouquet of red roses sitting on her desk was a spectacle. The abundance of coworkers swarmed around it was a nuisance. They scattered when they saw the look on her face, but she could hear their loud titters through the cubicle walls. She glanced at the note that had been left with the flowers ( _Dinner was lovely last night, but not as lovely as you_ , signed DM, written with an ostentatious flourish) and then huffed as she stormed her way to the lifts.

When the lift doors opened to release her onto Level Six, Magical Transportation, Jason Junker happened to be there to greet her, looking more shocked to see her than she was to see him, sadly. She had come to expect to see Jason everywhere she went. She would have been more shocked to work an entire day without seeing him once.

“Ginny! What brings you down to Level Six? Got a problem with your Floo? I think I can fix it for you.” He waggled his eyebrows as he said the word “Floo,” which indicated his intended meaning quite clearly.

Nose scrunched in distaste, Ginny quickly moved past him, but she didn’t know where Malfoy’s office was located. “No, I just came to speak to Ma—Draco. Haven’t seen him, have you?”

She wished she hadn’t noticed his eyes narrowing when she said Malfoy’s name, but he smiled at her whatever he was really feeling.

“Oh, keeping that up, are you? Listen, babe, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you must have a line of interested men following you wherever you go, but you don’t need Malfoy as a cover for them. I can fill that role better than he could.”

“I highly doubt it.”

Ginny had never felt so relieved to hear Malfoy’s voice than when he stepped out of another lift behind her. She’d never welcomed a touch as much as when he wrapped an arm around her waist, either. She tried to tell herself that the rush of blood shooting through her body, making her heart pound harder, was a sign of that relief, but she knew it was a reaction to the heat of his hand burning her skin through her robes. Her mind jumped to the previous day’s kiss, to his tongue on hers, her teeth nibbling his lips, and she lost track of the situation entirely.

She came to herself when Malfoy escorted her away from the lifts. She glanced behind them to see a dark look cross Junker’s face before slinking away. They didn’t speak until they’d arrived at Malfoy’s office, which he seemed to share with two other people who hadn’t arrived to work yet by the looks of their clean and unoccupied desks.

As he closed the door behind them, Malfoy said, “Looks like I saved you again. No need to thank me.”

Anger flared up in Ginny, just as it had the night before at dinner when Malfoy had mentioned saving her. She turned on him, nearly pinning him against the door. “Let’s get one thing straight, shall we?” she said, shocking him with her vehemence. “I don’t need to be saved by you. Don’t insult me by saying you are rescuing me every time you step into a conversation and make a claim on me. You’re doing me a favor by participating in this plan to save myself! Got that?”

It infuriated her further to see him smile at her with condescension, as if she were an amusing child making a grown up claim.

“Got it,” he said. “You’re too proud to admit when you’re in too deep and need to be rescued.”

Her hands were shaking, but she was afraid it wasn’t just the anger that made her limbs tremble. “You’re one to talk,” she spat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” As his eyes narrowed, she didn’t worry about pushing him too far. She’d already been pushed far enough by the situation with Junker, and she felt quite reckless with Malfoy as a result.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she replied, now pacing the floor of his office to burn up some of her frustrated energy. “I’m not too proud to admit when I’m in too deep, _unlike you_. I told _you_ when I couldn’t handle Jason anymore, and yet I recall plots to murder people in cold blood and sneak Death Eaters into school. You could have done anything else, you could have switched sides, but you didn’t. You kept your mouth closed. For your pride!”

Malfoy stood stunned for half a second before he drew his wand, his whole body shuddering with emotion. For half a second, Ginny feared he would hex her, and for that half-second, she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted him to attack her! Then she’d be justified for… for… being so angry!

But moments passed, and Malfoy seemed to struggle with himself, his expression quickly changing with each emotion he processed. Finally, he took a deep breath and raised his arm, his wand pointed directly at Ginny.

A flash of blue light flew over her shoulder giving her no time to shield herself, and before she could laugh in his face for missing, she heard a loud _THUMP_. Spinning around, she saw a dueling dummy against the far wall. He’d transfigured a filing cabinet into a target.

“You’re clearly under a lot of stress,” Malfoy said, his face now an impassive mask. Was he utilizing Occlumency just then? She’d heard from Harry during the war that Malfoy was a decent enough Occlumens to keep Snape out of his head. “Why don’t you attack that instead of me.”

Then he walked out of the room leaving Ginny behind, flabbergasted that he’d gone and angry still that he hadn’t stayed to face her. She turned on the dummy and threw spell after spell at it—imagining first Malfoy's face right in the center of the target and then Jason Junker's—until her chest was heaving and her eyes were stinging with tears. She wouldn’t let them fall.

By the time Malfoy returned, with a mug in each hand and a bagel floating in the air before him, she’d tired herself out enough to sit calmly in his chair, a contrite expression on her face.

“Better?” he asked as he set the bagel on the desk next to a precariously stacked pile of parchment and handed one of the mugs to Ginny.

The scent of dark roast wafted out of the mug, and she closed her eyes for a moment just to breathe in the heavenly aroma. “Yes,” she answered after she’d taken a sip. Black, not the way she liked it, but definitely the way she needed it today. “I’m sorry—”

Malfoy waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “As much as I love hearing you utter apologies, this time it’s not necessary.” 

Such magnanimity made her instantly suspicious, but she recalled the emotions that had wracked his body with shudders just before he’d transfigured the dueling dummy, and the suspicion faded. Perhaps he’d had personal experience with the kind of emotions she’d felt. No, of course he had. Even though she’d just antagonized him about it, she knew he’d suffered during the war, too. He must have heard all kinds of insults and accusations thrown his way when he began to work for the Ministry. Maybe people still spewed hate at him even now, three and half years after the war ended. The fact that he hadn’t lashed out at her for lashing out at him made her respect him just a little bit more. Back at Hogwarts, her insults would have inspired him to hex her for sure. Perhaps he'd matured since Voldemort's defeat.

Malfoy pushed the bagel in her direction, and she was struck once again by his kind gesture.

“I’d originally come up here to berate you for the roses.”

“You didn’t like them?” he asked

“They’re a bit much, don’t you think? We’re supposed to be pretending, but you don’t have to _actually_ act like my boyfriend.”

He smiled at her as if she were naive; she could tell by the way he cocked his head as he said, “The Kneazle's out of the bag now. After that article in the Prophet we’re going to have to try to convince everyone. This isn’t just about Junker and our friends and families anymore. You’re not going to be able to hide this.”

She sighed. He was right, of course. She should have known from the beginning, from the moment she’d grabbed his arm and told Junker that she and Malfoy were dating, that they couldn't hide this charade. She would have to face the consequences of her brash actions.

“I know,” she said, defeated by the enormity of their ruse. “My mum has already requested your presence at lunch on Saturday, and when she makes a request, you can't ignore it or you'll never hear the end of it. Most of my family should be there, including Harry and Hermione, so… play nice?” 

This conversation was too weird, especially because she was talking about Malfoy. It shouldn't have been an ordeal to spend a Saturday afternoon with her family. It had been so easy with Harry because her family had already claimed him as their own. Just thinking about going through this with _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people, exhausted her. She could already foresee the disaster in store for them.

Before he could utter any flimsy excuses, she grabbed her untouched bagel and her mug and stood up, ready to drop the subject and go back to work. “Thank you for this.”

Malfoy shrugged. “I find I’m my most rational self after my first cup of coffee.” Before she passed him, he grasped her arm, and a jolt of heat shot through her body at the contact, making Ginny stumble. His grip tightened to hold her steady.

“We have to be in this together. I’d rather not get punched by all ten of your brothers if they catch even the slightest hint that you're with me reluctantly. This was your idea. Are you going to protect me?”

Her lips cracked into a smile even though his face was as serious as a grave, but she didn’t for the life of her know why what he’d said amused her. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Malfoy was just as worried about their act as she was. Or maybe it was because just half an hour ago she’d felt helpless and manipulated by him, when in reality, _she_ had been the one manipulating him—using him! He’d agreed to help her, whatever his reasons were, and it was only right for her to put as much effort into the plot as he did.

And… honestly, she’d felt so alone in Junker’s harassment, having a partner to support her was a novel concept. Maybe he’d been right that she’d let pride get in the way of asking for help, but now, at least, she did have his help. If she'd been less desperate at the time, Malfoy would not have been her first choice for a fake boyfriend, but he was here and he was willing. It was in her best interest to accept his assistance. To accept him.

She set the coffee back on the corner of his cluttered desk and offered him her hand. “You and me. We’re in this together one hundred percent.”

His hand enveloped hers in warmth, his slender, refined fingers gripping hers in a firm and supportive shake.

o o o o

On the way back to the lifts, Ginny saw Colin peeking around a corner, and she beckoned him to her with a crooked finger. He eagerly floated forward and waited with her for an elevator to arrive.

“Colin,” she said, her tone solemn, “don’t give my address to people.”

She didn’t look, but she could hear the disappointment and confusion in his voice as he replied. “But how was he going to find you to pick you up for your date?”

She pressed her lips tightly together and took a deep breath through her nose, stepping inside the lift as soon as the doors opened. Thankfully, she and Colin were the only occupants. She pushed the button for Level Four and waited for the lurch of the car beginning its ascent.

“My life isn’t a game. Don’t play with it like it is one.” Her posture matched the tone of her words: firm and unyielding. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, drilling into a dent in the wall as if she could flatten the metal back out again. “Don’t be another man I can’t trust,” she finished, just as the lift doors opened.

She stepped out, leaving Colin behind, his head hanging in sorrow.

o o o o

By the time Saturday arrived, Ginny was a nervous wreck. She’d dodged Harry, Ron, and Colin all week long, trying to avoid their questions, rage, and mopey faces. Malfoy had continued to send her flowers and notes throughout the days, and Ginny had done her part to gush over how sweet he was with Rose Bloomgarden and her other coworkers. It didn’t even take an hour for the news to spread that first morning that she and Malfoy were dating, and the stares and questions she received as a result hadn’t been as horrific as she’d expected. Maybe.... maybe dating Draco Malfoy wasn’t scandalous news. Maybe it was only scandalous among Weasleys and those who closely associated with them.

Ginny chewed on her fingernails as she paced the front hall of her flat while she waited for Malfoy to arrive. She heard the distinctive crack of Apparition and opened the door before he could even knock. A stiff chill blew in as the door flew open, and Ginny shivered, but she hardly noticed the cold with Malfoy standing on her stoop, dressed for a fancy night out instead of a casual Saturday lunch.

“Oh no,” she said.

Malfoy’s eyebrows slanted down as he pulled out his wand and glanced behind him. “What is it?”

Ginny couldn’t even reply. He looked spectacular, of course. The three-piece Muggle suit he’d donned fit him to a T, the material gently clinging to his shoulders and hugging his waist showing off his toned physique. She’d always thought him scrawny and pointy, but she’d never seen him dressed like this, never noticed how far his shoulders stretched, how strong his thighs looked. He was lean, but he wasn’t lanky, and he looked absolutely delicious.

No, he couldn’t go to the Burrow like this.

“What is it?” he repeated, spinning around to face the supposed threat behind him.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, shoving the door closed behind him. But then she couldn’t let go. Her hands lingered on his bicep, and another tiny shiver shook her frame as she squeezed experimentally. So firm.

“Who taught you how to wear a Muggle suit?” she asked, her voice quite breathless. She couldn’t even gather enough breath to ask the most important question: _why?_

Malfoy shrugged as he readjusted his cuffs, but he didn’t answer her.

“Okay, but you can’t wear that.”

“Why not?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn down over his nose in confusion.

“This is Saturday lunch, Malfoy! At my parents’ house. We do this every Saturday. You’ll show everyone up, and they’ll think you’re wearing this just to embarrass them.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You _weren’t_ planning to embarrass my family, were you?”

“Of course not,” he replied, and even though he met her eyes squarely and didn’t crack a smile, Ginny still couldn’t tell whether or not he was lying. “I thought you would appreciate the effort I’d made on your family’s behalf. Apparently I was wrong.”

“You have to take it off,” Ginny said as she began to tug at his suit jacket.

“Excuse me?” he replied, his voice pitched higher as if scandalized.

“We can’t go like this! Take the jacket off; we have to make you look more casual.”

He finally pushed her off him with an impatient “All right, all right, all right!” When she was a good two feet away from him with her hands at her sides, he peeled the jacket off his shoulders. Ginny gulped, but she couldn’t turn away from the sight of Malfoy undressing in her hallway.

“Better?” he asked with a sardonic arch of his brow, his hands spread before him as if offering himself to her. A dangerous offer, that. He still looked too delectable in his shirt, waistcoat, and trousers, and she was afraid she would lose her mind and jump him before the end of the night. Honestly. _Malfoy._ Had she gone mad?

Ginny shook her head (almost in answer to her own question) and took a step closer again. “Not quite. May I?” she asked as she reached for his hand.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he replied, giving her his right hand.

She unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his sleeve up to his elbow. While fixing his left sleeve, she flinched when a faint red outline was revealed on the inside of his forearm. Despite the fading, his pale skin made the Dark Mark stand out all too clearly.

Her eyes lifted to his, but he was gazing at her with an impassive, unreadable expression. Turning her attention back to the mark, she gently brushed a finger over it, feeling the slightly raised edges that made it more scar than tattoo. The hair on his arm stood up, goosebumps populating his flesh at her touch.

“Would the jacket be more offensive to your family than this?” he asked with a shake of his arm, his voice light but serious. Not quite nonchalant but not quite scolding, either.

Ginny steeled herself and finished rolling up his sleeve. Meeting his eyes with a defiant glare, she said, “You’re my boyfriend now. They’ll just have to deal with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we'll get to see Draco and Ginny having lunch with the Weasleys (and adopted Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, of course)!!
> 
> I don't picture Draco looking anything like David Beckham, but this IS how I picture Draco's suit at the end of this chapter after Ginny's had her way with it! n_n
> 
>   
> *drools*


	4. A Casual Lunch

“The Burrow,” as Weasley called it, loomed before them like a pile of blocks precariously stacked one on top of the other. As he recovered from post-Apparation nausea and took in the new surroundings, Draco wondered if her entire family had actually lived inside such a dwelling at one point and how they had managed to keep it standing for all these years. 

Weasley—no, wait, she would have to be Ginevra now—grasped his arm tightly, her fingers digging into his forearm as if he were her anchor. Maybe he was. She looked ready to flee at any moment.

If he could have, Draco would have fled, too, away from the Weasleys waiting to pounce and out of his own skin, even. He'd put on a good show of indifference back at Ginevra's flat, but Draco felt exposed with his Dark Mark on display for all to see. Ginevra's fingers currently wrapped around the scar so casually was perverse and made his nausea worse. Since the war, Draco had avoided looking at or touching the thing as much as possible, and he didn't know how to react to her stubborn acceptance of it. How could she touch it without recoiling?

He brushed the odd feeling away, refusing to let his past ruin what was supposed to be a fun afternoon for him. All week long he'd been looking forward to Potter's expression when he saw Draco and Ginevra together, and he couldn't play his role to perfection if he was embittered by his memories all afternoon. 

“Don’t forget to smile,” he reminded Ginevra—and himself. Mrs. Weasley had just stepped outside to watch their approach. “We’re in love, remember,” he added for good measure.

In a surprising turn of events, Ginevra relaxed her grip on his arm, and a wide grin lit her face. She looked up at him, and the smile was delighted and convincing.

“Mum!” she said as she hugged Mrs. Weasley and kissed her on the cheek.

“You’re early. You’re never early,” her mother said, her eyes narrowed slightly and darting back and forth between Draco and Ginevra.

Ginevra didn’t flinch. “We wanted to make a good impression.”

“These are for you,” Draco added, holding out a bouquet of lilies. “They’re from my family’s private garden. I picked and arranged them myself.”

“Did you now?” Mrs. Weasley muttered, to which Ginevra hissed, _“Mum!”_ The Weasley matriarch’s lips stretched into an insincere smile as she beckoned them inside. “They’re lovely. Thank you. Why don’t you go say hello to Harry in the sitting room?”

Ginevra rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation as they moved out of the kitchen into the next room, where Potter was sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper.

“Hey, you made it!” he said when he saw them, and then he jumped up to give his ex-girlfriend a hug.

Draco's eyes narrowed, expecting a less than enthusiastic greeting and annoyed that they hadn't received a colder reception. In return, he made Potter's hug more awkward by refusing to let go of Ginevra's arm, so she was forced to give him a polite side hug instead.

“Harry, you know Draco, of course,” she said, the brightest smile on her face that Draco had seen yet. “Draco, you know Harry.”

“Of course,” both men muttered, and Draco offered his hand, just like he had ten years ago when he’d officially met Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express.

This time Potter accepted his handshake.

“Ginny, can I talk to you?” he asked as soon as he released Draco’s hand.

Ginevra’s eyes darted toward Draco as she answered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Potter took a desperate step forward, his hand reaching out as if to grab hers. “It will just take a second. Promise.”

She sighed and then turned to Draco. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’ll be back in a minute. Oh, and keep your wand handy but out of sight. If any of my brothers come in before I get back, they might shoot first and ask questions later.”

“That’s comforting,” Draco said.

Ginevra lead Potter out through a door on the other side of the room, but Draco didn’t take a seat. He lurked in the doorway to listen to their conversation out in the hall, waiting gleefully for the moment he'd been anticipating all week, when Potter finally exploded at his ex-girlfriend for her choice of new boyfriend. The tiniest part of him was also excited to hear Ginevra shred him alive for deigning to have an opinion on her love life at all.

“If this is about M—Draco…” she began.

“No! I mean, it _is_ , but it’s not what you think.”

There was a long pause during which Draco imagined Ginevra glaring at Potter as if to say she didn’t believe the shite he was spewing. It amused Draco to think so, anyway.

Then he continued. “You’re right. It doesn’t make me happy to see you with him. At all. But… I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t support you.”

Draco did a double take, wondering if he’d heard correctly, and she must have done the same because after a slight pause, she said, “Come again?” Her voice was low in disbelief, but she clearly expected his answer to change, as did Draco.

“I’m going to support your relationship with Malfoy,” Potter repeated. “Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me as much as it should, but I also trust your judgment. If I didn’t believe Malfoy was capable of… I don’t know… of being good, I guess, I never would have said so during my testimony at his trial. Or his mother’s trial. You know me, if I thought he was truly evil, I’d never let it go.”

“Yes, I do know,” she said softly but with an edge of exasperation. She sighed, and Draco leaned closer to the door frame to catch her next words. “Why did you say that about being a hypocrite?”

“Oh, er, well. You see, I’ve been dating someone for a few weeks now, but I haven’t really told anyone yet. I mean, I think Hermione knows, but you can’t get much past her. I haven’t said anything about it to Ron or your mum because….”

With a more explicitly exasperated sigh, Ginevra finished for him: “Because they’re still hoping we’ll get back together.”

Draco’s face drew into a disgusted expression, even with no audience to witness it. The very idea of Potter and Weasley getting back together, making everyone’s dreams come true with their high profile relationship, made him want to gag. As if either one of them needed to be fawned over more than they already were. He remembered the media spectacle that had occurred after their breakup. If they got back together, the response would be even worse. He’d be hearing about Potter every minute of every day. No thank you. Ginevra Weasley was better off pretending to date Draco, if he said so himself.

“I thought you were going to hate me, like Mum and Ron,” she admitted, her voice even quieter than it was before.

“They don’t hate you!”

She scoffed. “Maybe not, but they’re displeased with me. Not that it’s any of their business who I date, but…” She muttered something that Draco couldn’t hear. “I’m glad you’re on my side in this. I’m glad _someone_ is.”

Draco would have to respectfully disagree with that sentiment. Potter's reaction to the relationship was one of the highlights of participating in the ruse. Without his disapproval, what was the point? He recalled his pro and con list and comforted himself with the fact that the Weasleys were more likely to oblige Draco's thirst for chaos.

“You’ve got Malfoy,” Potter pointed out—with a grin if his smarmy tone was anything to go by.

“Yes,” she replied, giggling. “I guess I do. Who do you have?”

“Astoria Greengrass.”

Astoria _Greengrass_? Draco remembered her from Hogwarts. She and her sister had been in Slytherin, though Daphne was Draco’s age and Astoria had been a couple years younger. The Greengrass family wasn’t as wealthy as many of the other well-known, traditionally Slytherin families, and they hadn’t supported the Dark Lord during either war. He recalled Astoria being a very quiet, bookish girl, but she and Daphne had been fiercely protective of each other, almost to the exclusion of anyone else.

“She works in a boutique next door to the cafe where I get my lunch sometimes,” he continued. “Well, actually, she owns the boutique with her sister. They design clothes for Muggles and wizards.” His voice beamed with pride, and Draco sneered at the sound of it.

“She sounds lovely. I’m happy for you,” Ginevra said softly.

“If you really like Malfoy, then I’m happy for you, too,” Potter replied, his voice getting closer.

Draco darted back to the armchair Potter had been occupying when he and Ginevra had arrived. He’d just managed to pull the newspaper up in front of his face when they entered the room.

“I… I do like him,” Ginevra was saying in a near mumble, the words clearly not meant for Draco’s ears. But he’d heard anyway, and he smirked behind the newspaper. The uncertain waver in her voice could have made her sound insincere, but in this case it gave her an air of surprised truth, which was good acting on her part. He’d have to reward her later for a job well done.

She looked up at the room, still empty except for Draco. “Has no one arrived yet? Ron is never late for lunch.”

Draco shrugged and folded up the unread paper. “Shall we go check the kitchen? Perhaps they’ve started without us.”

Ginevra led the way out saying, “Mum would never let them be so rude.” But there was uncertainty in her tone.

And sure enough, she had nearly been right. The kitchen was full of red-headed people—most of whom Draco recognized from school—along with Hermione Granger and Fleur Delacour (Circe’s tits, had she married a _Weasley_?). They’d all been arguing in loud whispers, but as soon as he, Ginevra, and Potter stepped through the door, the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

“So,” an affronted Ron began, his arms crossed in defiance over his chest with, Draco noted, his wand dangling casually in his right hand, “decided to show your face, did you?”

Draco wasn’t sure who that question was for, but Ginevra answered before he could ask for clarification.

“If that’s directed at Draco, he was invited. If you’re talking to me, why wouldn’t I show my face? I have nothing to hide!”

Ooh, yes, her acting was quite good now. She didn’t even stumble over Draco’s name this time, and the defiant glint in her eyes, well, actually, that couldn't have been faked.

“You hid _him_ from us! How long were you going to keep this a secret?”

Draco didn’t much like being gestured at like someone whose name was too horrific to speak aloud, but Ron’s rising anger made him giddy. He had to refrain from showing that giddiness and wore a serious, neutral expression instead, but he allowed himself a few internal snickers at the color rising in his school nemesis’s face.

“I wasn’t hiding him! Our relationship is so new”—wasn’t that the truth—“I didn’t want to go public with it until….”

“Until what?” Ron spat.

Now Draco took Ginevra’s hand, startling her for just a moment before she squeezed his fingers in support, and finished her explanation for her. “Until we were sure it could go somewhere. Why cause a scandal if things were going to fizzle out after a couple dates? We didn’t want a fuss on our behalf unless the relationship was worth the trouble.”

Draco was pleased with his improvisation, and Ginevra must have been, too, if the smile she gave him was anything to go by. She looked… relieved, the wrinkles around her eyes softening into lines of laughter with one easy grin. His heart thudded a little harder in his chest, and his tongue felt dry. Odd. She hadn’t even kissed him this time. She hadn’t done anything except look at him.

A man with a ponytail, a dragonfang earring, and fierce scars marring his face shifted on his feet, drawing attention to himself. “Is he worth the trouble, Ginny?” he asked. Underneath the scars, his face was the same oval shape as Ginevra’s, and his hair was the same red-blond hue.

“Yes,” she said, her tone final, her eyes determined.

She released Draco’s hand to wrap her arm around his waist, drawing closely into his side, her head resting just on his shoulder. She was so petite, the top of her head barely reached his jawline. He had the indiscriminate urge to perch his chin on her head and wrap both arms around her tight. He wouldn't even have to lean down to reach her comfortably.

“I know we’ve barely been together two weeks, but he is worth it. I… wasn’t ready to say anything because I didn’t want to hurt Harry, but I’m glad the Kneazle’s out of the bag now. I don’t like lying to all of you.”

And out of everything she had said so far that day, Draco knew that last comment had been the full and complete truth.

To Draco’s utter surprise, the tension in the room dissipated significantly. Fleur Delacour—or was it Weasley now?—smiled up at the ponytailed brother while the only remaining twin shrugged. Ron’s face maintained its tomato color as if ready to explode again until their mother finally said, “All right now. That is quite enough. Your father will be home any minute. Ron, Hermione, dear, would you go set the table? And would someone please go fetch Percy and Victoire?”

The air cleared even more as half the room’s occupants evacuated to set up for lunch. Potter squeezed Ginevra’s shoulder in support before he exited through the door that lead back into the sitting room, but no one else even glanced Draco’s way.

“That… well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ginevra said in a low voice meant only for Draco.

He didn’t answer only because the afternoon had barely begun and there was still plenty of time for the situation to turn sour. And Draco hoped it did.

“What can we do, Mum?”

Mrs. Weasley, harried and hair frizzing from the heat of cooking, replied without looking up from the four pots bubbling on the stove. “Take a seat and wait for your father. Everything is being taken care of.”

With a grin directed at Draco, Ginevra led him to the dining table, which was long enough to seat ten comfortably. They claimed two chairs at the end of the table while Ron and Granger laid out mismatched silverware and plates at each setting, when the door opened and Arthur Weasley walked in.

“Oh, hello, Ginny bean! We missed you last week.”

She stood again to give him a peck on the cheek and said, “Sorry, Dad. You know how it is.”

“And who’s this?” he replied, turning his curious, friendly gaze on Draco. The friendliness only lasted half a second. “Oh. You.”

“Arthur, he brought flowers,” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, as if this was a good enough reason to accept Draco into their home.

Mr. Weasley’s eyes narrowed. “Did he? That was kind.”

“He is kind, Dad,” Ginevra insisted as she grabbed Draco’s arm in a tight hug.

A frown was on the verge of Draco’s lips before he remembered his earlier words reminding Ginevra to smile, so he let his lips quirk up into a smile of his own and stood up, reaching out his free hand to Mr. Weasley.

“Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes, I know,” he answered in a clipped tone. Nevertheless, he took Draco’s hand, and even though all the people with whom he had so far associated were too inconsequential for Draco to feel any such elation, he couldn’t help but celebrate the success of having _two_ handshakes accepted in one day. He was moving up in the world.

Before more could be said, everyone re-entered the kitchen, ex-Head Boy Percy now in tow carrying a gurgling pink-haired infant. Draco looked at Ginevra, one eyebrow raised in concern, but she waved him off.

“Bill and Fleur’s daughter. It was the strangest thing: his red hair and her blonde mixed together, and Victoire’s came out pink! Mum’s insistent that it’s a magical reaction and she’ll grow out of it before she’s a toddler, but I hope it stays.”

“Don’t you dare, Ginevra!” Fleur said as she took her child out of Percy’s arms. “If you and Malfoy ‘ave a child of your own, then you can wish curses upon ‘er! Leave my precious Victoire out of it.”

Both Draco and Ginevra choked at that, even though neither one of them had anything in their mouths.

“Me and _Malfoy_? Don’t be silly, Fleur! That’s ridiculous!” she spluttered.

“Yes, I mean, we only just started dating. You’re getting ahead of yourself!” Draco added.

Fleur didn’t deign to respond as she was wrestling her hyperactive baby into a highchair, but George, Ron, and Harry all snickered as they took their seats around the table.

“That’s enough,” Mrs. Weasley said, frowning unhappily. “You’re all much too young to be having children right now. Besides, Bill is the only one of you married. Change the topic.”

Draco was glad for the bowl of vegetables that had just been passed to him by Percy on his right. As he served himself, he smirked at his plate, his cheeks warm due to the embarrassing turn of the conversation. Even as the very idea of fathering a Weasley baby distressed him, he couldn’t help but glow with pleasure at the awkward mood now hovering around the table. No one else could quite stomach the idea of a Malfoy-Weasley hybrid, either, as evident in the way half the occupants of the table poked at their food with their forks. The baby Victoire merely shoveled mashed potatoes from fist to mouth, oblivious to the lull in conversation.

Meanwhile, Draco eyed his food with trepidation, but the gusto with which everyone else at the table ate indicated the meal was safe to consume and might even be delicious. When he finally inserted a cautious forkful of pot roast into his mouth, he was pleasantly surprised by the juiciness and flavor that came out of the one bite—but he would certainly never admit to Ginevra that her mother's cooking was on par with, if not better than, the house-elves' cooking at home.

“Malf—er, Draco, could you pass the potatoes?” Granger asked.

He took great pleasure in the hesitancy in her voice, that clearly uncomfortable vibe as she attempted to be civil to him, but his smile fell into a frown when she suddenly dropped the dish before it could fully leave Draco's fingertips. Her eyes were wide, shocked, and the blood drained out of her face, making her look sickly.

His left arm was stretched out across the table, and the Dark Mark, faded and pink, stared up at her threateningly, as clear as day against his pale forearm.

“I-I-I'm sorry,” Granger muttered, her eyes dropping to the pile of mashed potatoes that had fallen out of the dish. Her hands shook as she scooped food directly from the tabletop to her plate.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Hermione!” Ron said, his face bright red in contrast with hers. “It's Ginny who should be sorry for bringing this bastard to lunch!”

Draco glanced at Ginny whose own shock was swiftly turning into outrage. She grabbed Draco's arm, her fingers once again curling around the Mark, this time in a gesture that had to be deliberate, since she didn't try to hide his arm under the table.

“The war was more than three years ago, Ron! He didn't ask for this.” She shook Draco's arm in Ron's direction, which made Draco's whole body shake like a doll.

“You don't know that!” 

“I do! You think I'd be dating someone who _chose_ to be a Death Eater? He wasn't given a choice! You went to his trial; you heard his and his parents' testimony! Harry is part of the reason he got off; why aren't you pointing fingers at him?”

It was true that Potter had testified on Draco's and his mothers' behalf, but did she really have to mention it in front of everyone? So far, he had kept his expression neutral, partly because he didn't want to make the situation worse, but mostly because he couldn't tell if Ginevra was sincere. _Draco_ knew that he'd taken the Dark Mark because his and his parents' lives were at stake (and also because he'd believed he could fix his father's mistakes and earn the Dark Lord's favor back), and he'd said as much at his trial, but that didn't mean she believed him. Was she saying these things because she recognized the truth, or because they justified their relationship for the charade?

“That's quite enough!”

All heads (including a pink one) turned to the end of the table, where Arthur Weasley had just stood up from his chair to address his family.

“Mr. Malfoy was invited”—Draco suppressed a snort at his word choice. _Strongly urged to show up_ might have described the situation more accurately—“and if anyone has a problem with him being here, you can bring it up with me or your mother _after_ lunch. If you're not capable of being civil, feel free to take your plates upstairs to your rooms. I mean, your former rooms. The rooms you slept in when you lived here. You know what I mean!”

Mr. Weasley sat down and then turned his attention to Draco. “I'm sorry for Ron's rudeness. I hope you will still stay for the rest of the meal.”

All eyes were on Draco now, and he had but a mere second to decide: pitch a fit and storm out of the house? Or magnanimously accept Mr. Weasley's apology and stay?

“Of course,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “It was a shock. I understand.”

He wished he'd made a scene and left with Ginevra instead. That would have been the best way to humiliate the family and possibly bring Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' ire on Ron for his shameful behavior. But as the meal progressed, Draco determined he'd made the best decision. Ginevra kept smiling at him softly throughout the rest of lunch, her fingers occasionally brushing against his arm until her hand slipped into his, their fingers intertwined. That left him only one hand (thankfully his dominant one) to use for the rest of the meal, but her touches and her smiles, both light and soft, made his heart feel light and soft in return. Every time she looked at him, there was a flutter inside his chest. Maybe he was having a heart attack from all the decadent food?

It was the least forced they'd been with each other so far, and Draco was swiftly becoming confused. When she looked at him like that, when her fingers brushed against the Mark, was she acting inside of their ruse? Or were they gestures of something else?

To make up for the awkwardness from earlier, everyone seated around Draco tried to engage him in polite conversation. He talked about his work at the Ministry with Percy, Granger, and Potter. He complimented Mrs. Weasley on her flower garden and gave her some tips to enrich the soil based on his experience helping his mother in the gardens at Malfoy Manor. When Mr. Weasley asked for his opinion on the newest bit of legislature calling for a tax on international Floo travel, Draco frankly had never thought about the issue before and had no opinion on it, but he came up with a convincing argument for it. By the end of the discussion, he might have even convinced Mr. Weasley to Draco's side.

While the rest of his family made a big show about accepting Draco, Ron pouted at his plate like a petulant child, and it made the child inside Draco snicker with glee. It was all a great bit of fun, and every now and then he would catch Ginevra's eye, and she would smile at him and his heart would fail for a moment.

During dessert, she finally became a more active participant in their act by ordering Draco to open wide, and then she’d fed his entire slice of coconut cake to him, one bite at a time, smiling as if serving him made her happier than anything she’d ever done in her life while her family and friends averted their gazes in embarrassment.

Each bite had brought more color to Draco’s cheeks, but the laughter in her eyes, the joke that was only between the two of them, had definitely made the whole ordeal worth it, even if Ron being put in his place hadn't. And when they finally left an hour later, Mrs. Weasley gave Draco a pat on the back at the door, which was a far cry from the hug she gave to Potter, Granger, and the rest of her children when they departed, but still better than the glare he had expected when imagining the meal earlier in the week.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ginevra repeated in her living room as she took off her coat and threw it across her love seat.

“I must admit that went better than I thought it would.”

“Did you see the looks on their faces when I started feeding you that cake?” she said with a laugh. “Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

The truth was, Draco _hadn’t_ noticed the reactions in the room beyond the awkward feeling that had pervaded throughout lunch. He’d been a little too preoccupied staring at Ginevra’s lips, wondering if they would be as sweet as her mother’s coconut cake. But he knew, didn’t he? Her lips were definitely sweeter.

“Er, tea, thanks,” he replied, a little distracted. When she went into the kitchen he took a seat on the cluttered love seat and shook some sense back into himself. “Do you think they fell for it?” he asked, his voice raised to reach her in the kitchen.

“I think so. Ron’s outburst helped, too. Actually, I’m surprised they didn’t all gang up on you after….”

She cut herself off as if she regretted her line of thought.

“No need to tiptoe around it. I was a Death Eater for a couple years. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t hide it.”

Ginevra came back into the living room carrying two mugs. She handed one mug to Draco before sitting down next to him.

“You’re not?” she asked. Then she waved her hand. “You know what? Never mind. Don’t answer that. Can I see it?”

Draco managed to hide his disappointment concerning the direction of her interest, and while part of him wanted to roll his sleeves back down and never speak of his past with her again, he reminded himself that what he’d said a moment ago was true. He couldn’t hide what he was or what he’d done. Besides, she looked at him with a vague curiosity, as if it didn't matter one way or another if she saw the Mark. If she'd been over-eager in her request, Draco might actually have refused her.

He found a spot for his tea on the table next to the love seat and then stretched out his arm for her, bracing himself for her eventual flinch.

She barely even blinked as she curled her legs under her and turned to face him, pulling his arm closer. He tried not to take any pleasure from the feel of her fingers lightly tracing the lines. Over the skull, under the mouth, around and around the outline of the snake. The hair on his arm stood up, his heart pounded, and he struggled to keep his Occlumency in place—a first for him. His Aunt Bellatrix had called him a natural when she’d taught him how to compartmentalize his feelings.

But Draco couldn't separate his feelings now. Her touch sent a shock through him, straight from his arm down to his needy cock, and he tried desperately to think of something else before his body betrayed him. Grandfather Malfoy in a bathrobe... ugly, baby elephants playing in mud… Muggles... his mother—ah, there it went. The flash of heat that rocked him instantly died down as soon as he envisioned his mother.

For her part, Ginevra didn’t flinch, she didn’t balk, she didn’t run out of the room screaming. Instead, she stroked the monstrosity branded into Draco's arm until he almost couldn’t see its ugliness anymore. He didn’t understand how she could touch the darkest part of him as if it were nothing, but that _meant_ something to him because he could hardly look at himself without wanting to cut his arm off. Her unflinching touch should not have turned him on as much as it did, but for three and a half years, he’d felt tainted by his mistake. It astonished him that she, of all people, could touch him at all.

Finally, she released him and lifted her head, her eyes bright and feverish. Perhaps his façade had finally cracked because she shrugged and smiled at him as if in answer to something she’d seen in his face. “I know what it’s like to have darkness inside me. I thought I’d be able to sense it in you.” She gestured to his arm. “But it’s gone.”

He wanted to know all about her darkness, but before he could form any sort of question, she’d picked up her tea again, and the mood suddenly changed.

“Anyway, even though she tried to pretend otherwise, I think you really won my mum over with the flowers. But I can’t believe she fell for your line about picking them yourself! After your conversation with her during lunch, you almost had _me_ convinced that you're a closet gardener.”

The sudden change in topic was jarring, and by the time he answered, she was taking a careful sip of her tea. “I did pick them myself. My mother doesn’t trust the house-elves with her garden, so I often help her tend to it.”

He delighted in her choking on her tea and smirked at her reaction.

Her eyes were wide when she turned them back on him. “Your mother let you give some of her flowers to a Weasley?”

Draco shrugged and stirred his tea before bringing the mug to his lips. “What she doesn’t know shan’t hurt her.”

They went back and forth, laughing at her family’s reaction to Draco and Ginevra’s personal displays of affection throughout lunch.

“Potter didn’t seem too upset, did he?” he prompted. It probably wouldn’t have been prudent to reveal that he’d eavesdropped on the conversation with her ex.

“Harry is… more level-headed than Ron is, that’s for sure. He told me he was going to support our relationship. Can you believe that?” She laughed to herself, but Draco could tell she seemed troubled by the way her brow creased and her gaze wandered.

“Yes, I think I can,” he admitted. “That doesn’t please you? That he wouldn’t take on the role of the jealous ex-lover?”

“No, it does in a way. I just wasn’t expecting it. I think maybe I judged him a little too unfairly. Harry has always been too good, better than the average person. I forget that sometimes.”

Her finger tapped against her mug, getting faster as she fell deeper into thought.

“That’s not the only thing on your mind,” Draco said.

She smiled, laughing slightly. “No. I guess… I’ve had all these ideas about the people in my life, thinking they’ve had unreasonable expectations for me, and I’ve forgotten that some people are capable of doing good things without ulterior motives and nefarious reasons.”

Draco thought he knew where she was going with that line of thought, and anger began to simmer underneath the surface. “Is this about Junker?” he asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended. Where the anger came from, he wasn't willing to analyze.

Her lips quirked up again. “Sort of. I was thinking of Colin and what I said to him the last time I saw him. I may have been a little too harsh, and I can’t afford to isolate my friends, especially Colin. He’s so alone right now. I’m all he has.”

Draco didn’t know the details of her harsh words to the ghostly Colin Creevey, but he imagined they had something to do with Creevey’s meddling with dinner earlier in the week. Even in death the kid could be annoyingly enthusiastic, so he didn’t blame her for snapping at him and didn’t see any reason for regret.

As he took another sip of his tea, his eye caught the time on a Snitch-shaped clock hanging on the wall, its wings flapping along to each second that passed. “I think it’s time for me to go,” he said, placing his mug on the coffee table. He had to push a stack of magazines and some other knickknacks (plus what looked like wadded up Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum wrappers) out of the way to make room, and he wasn’t sure if he was disgusted by her cleanliness or amused.

She stood up with him. “Really?”

Did his ears deceive him or did she sound disappointed? “I promised Mother I’d be home before three. I'm sure she has a fun-filled afternoon planned for us.”

“Really?” Ginevra repeated, this time in a lower, more amused tone.

“No. I expect she’ll have me moving furniture around or something else absolutely tedious.”

Her smile made his chest feel warm, and as she handed him the jacket she’d taken from him before they’d left for lunch, he thought he would have preferred the tedium of sitting in her cluttered flat while they drank tea and laughed at her family’s idiocy.

o o o o

Neither a fun-filled afternoon nor one moving furniture awaited Draco when he returned to Malfoy Manor. Instead, he found his mother in the parlor, which meant something had happened. Good news was never delivered in the parlor.

“Draco, there you are. Where have you been all afternoon?” his mother asked, a hidden trap in her voice that hinted at a trick question.

Knowing nonchalance irked her more than almost anything, he shrugged. “I'm sure I mentioned this morning that I was invited to have lunch with my girlfriend's family.”

His mother's lip curled. “Your girlfriend. Yes. I need to speak with you about that.”

Ah. So that's what this was about. Honestly, Draco had expected some sort of intervention days ago, soon after the article in the _Daily Prophet_. He hadn't for one second thought Narcissa Malfoy would let a headline like that pass by without comment.

Draco took a seat on the ottoman near the fireplace, as far away from the sofa his mother had claimed for herself as he could get without looking too obviously rude.

“What's wrong? You told me you wanted me to expand my social connections. Who better to align myself with than the Weasleys?”

“You know what I meant,” she snapped. “You know they are not acceptable friends in any way that matter. What could they possibly do for you?”

Draco shrugged again and delighted in her automatic cringe. “Society likes them. They don't like us.”

“Again, not the society that matters.”

Draco wanted to protest that statement, but before he could open his mouth, his mother had adopted a more cajoling tone.

“You were close with the Crabbe boy, weren't you? His sister should be leaving Hogwarts in a couple years. Or if you'd rather someone a little older, Millicent is still available. You need to be making decisions for your future, Draco. We lost an opportunity when dear Pansy married into the Nott family. These other girls are not going to wait for you to grow up, and they will not appreciate you playing with a Weasley first.”

He scowled. “Pansy married Nott because her mother didn't want her associating with us. You know, because Father is in Azkaban. That's hardly my fault.”

“If you'd shown her the least bit of interest, perhaps we could have secured the match!” That was always her argument where Pansy was concerned. Even when Mrs. Parkinson had sent a letter explaining Draco's unsuitability—for which Lucius's imprisonment was mostly responsible, according to Pansy's mother—Narcissa had blamed Draco for not trying hard enough.

It was true, he hadn't tried at all. He'd never had any desire to marry Pansy. She'd fancied him when they were children, and when she'd brought her feelings to light at the age of fifteen, Draco had made it well-known that he didn't want her. A few months of tension had followed before they'd slid back into their friendship, which had become stronger than ever due to Pansy's new fling, and then after Hogwarts she'd married Theodore, leaving Draco free to pursue other interests. They made better friends than they would have lovers, but try telling his mother that.

He shrugged again instead of answering, and Narcissa sighed, something she only did when at her limit.

“With your father gone,” she said, each word carefully and slowly delivered, “you need to take responsibility for this family. The only way to improve our status in society again is to find an acceptable ally. What about... one of the Greengrass girls?” Even as she made the suggestion, she closed her eyes in horror. The Greengrass family was only _barely_ acceptable.

“Daphne likes women and Astoria's dating Potter,” Draco said, and he was only smug inside his head.

“For Salazar's sake,” Narcissa said.

But Draco had had enough. He stood up, his gaze meeting his mother's in a battle for dominance that both were determined to win.

“The Weasleys are an upstanding, well-respected family, and Ginevra Weasley is my girlfriend. You may not like that our positions have switched, but we're on the bottom now, clamoring to reach the top, and they're already there. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

“Draco. _Draco!_ ”

He ignored her as he swept out of the parlor and up to his room, irritated beyond belief, as recent interactions with his mother often left him. He might have misconstrued his relationship with his mother a little bit at lunch that day. He'd led Ginevra and her family to believe that he and and his mother were close, but in recent months, their relationship had grown tense as Narcissa urged Draco to fix a problem he hadn't caused.

His mother's disapproval was a clear indicator that Draco had made the right decision when he'd accepted Ginny's proposal to continue their charade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think updates are going to take a little longer from now on ( _hopefully_ no longer than two weeks between updates!), just because I'm going to be adding new content to the rest of the chapters that are already written, as well as adding all-new chapters. If you read this during the DG Forum's fic exchange, then you may not recognize parts of the story from here on out. ;) Because I most likely won't be updating weekly anymore, I've gifted you with an extra long chapter today!
> 
>  
> 
> The line where Draco thinks of baby elephants playing in mud in order to prevent an erection is inspired by the book _Trade Me_ by Courtney Milan, in which her male protagonist does the same thing during a scene. ;) Also, Victoire's pink hair is a reference to the pink-haired babies trope of yore! :)


	5. A Troublesome Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : There's smut in this chapter. If that's not your thing, skip the very first section and start reading after the first o o o o chapter break.

Ginny shuddered as Malfoy's mouth slid down between the valley of her breasts, tasting the soft skin of her stomach. She giggled, her toes curling, when his tongue dipped inside her belly button for just a moment, but the laughter died on her lips as he traveled lower, until his mouth was between her legs and that delectable tongue was pressed firmly against her clit. 

Instinctively, Ginny pressed her thighs together around Draco's head, but his hands pulled them apart, pinning her legs to the bed with a strength she hadn't known he possessed. Not until she'd seen the lean muscles of his frame underneath his suit jacket before they'd left for lunch. Since then, and all throughout the Weasley gathering, Ginny had had difficulty banishing thoughts of his arms binding her to him, his chest pressing her against a wall, his thigh lodged between her legs. She'd wondered as she'd fed him coconut cake what else his mouth was capable of besides looking delicious around a spoon.

Malfoy sucked her off like a lolly, alternating between hard pulls with his lips and gentle, teasing swirls with his tongue. Her legs now behaving properly, he moved his hands underneath her arse, tilting her pelvis up at a slight angle, giving him better access to her dripping sex, and Ginny... Ginny groaned in between panting breaths, overwhelmed by the feel of his hands and his mouth, his hair tickling the sensitive insides of her thighs. Her fingers dug into the sheets underneath her, trying to hold tight to an anchor as sweet pulses extended from the apex of her thighs to every inch of her body. Underneath each radiance, her muscles grew taut, and her body arched like a bow, her heels digging into the mattress lifting her towards a height she wanted desperately to reach.

Malfoy threw her legs over his shoulders, which took away some of Ginny's control but didn't lessen her pleasure. Instead of the mattress, she pressed her heels into Malfoy's back, and he rewarded her by jerking her hips up higher and changing the pace of his relentless tongue. With each wide stroke, her body shuddered harder, and Ginny's hands relinquished their hold on the bed sheets to tease her nipples, so desperate for release she was crying out for it.

"Malfoy!" she moaned, unable to utter anything else.

He lifted his face to catch her eyes, and then the git smirked at her and kissed the inside of each thigh. "It's Draco, remember?" he said.

She couldn't answer when she was so close to release and the cruel Malfoy wouldn't give it to her. Her legs quivered as she urged him back down to her sex to continue where he'd left off, but when his mouth met her skin again, he was gentle and slow with his touches.

 _"Malfoy!"_ she repeated, this time a definite frustrated growl in her voice. She lifted her hips, trying to press her throbbing sex against his mouth, but he merely chuckled at her and moved his head back.

"My name is Draco," he said again.

Ginny groaned, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She was aching, desperate, and he was teasing her.

"Draco!"

And with that, Ginny bolted upright in bed, as alone as she'd been since she and Harry had broken up a year ago. The memory of Draco Malfoy's laughter and smirk haunted the edges of her consciousness, but they were drifting away, becoming more vague by the second.

What wasn't vague was her pounding heart and the wetness between her thighs. She tried to recall the best parts of the dream (Malfoy's tongue eating her out like the tastiest ice cream cone he'd ever eaten) and a wave of heat rolled through her while her sex throbbed.

Without even thinking, she laid back again and lifted her night shirt, her warm hand scalding her cold stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to keep the dream within reach, but it was fading away too fast. Instead, she recalled Draco standing in her front hall as he took off his jacket—the lean muscles in his arms as she rolled up his shirtsleeves—his large hand holding hers throughout lunch—and then... and then the shape of his lips as she spoon-fed him cake.

It was enough just thinking about him, about the sharp angle of his jaw, the line of his pointy nose, his smirk when he was amused at someone else's expense and his impassive expression when hiding some deep emotion.

Her hand slipped underneath the band of her knickers, and she trembled as her finger flicked against her clit. She was so hot and wet, and she wanted someone's— _Draco's_ —tongue between her thighs instead of her smaller, awkward fingers. She cupped her sex with her left hand, her hips bucking against her palm for the friction on her clit, as the fingers of her right hand teased her flesh, swirled in the slick heat, and then, finally, entered her. One finger, and then two, but it wasn't enough. Her body was tight with the strain of her impending orgasm and the awkward angle at which she had to hold herself in order to reach her center.

Tears stung her eyes again, and she imagined that her fingers were Draco's, that her hand was his tongue, that her legs were wrapped around his head, and with that thought—

A forceful wave of pleasure wracked through her, and her body drew taut to accommodate its passage. Her hands' movements became jerky and erratic, though she tried to ride out the orgasm, tried to milk out every last bit of it. Her muscles tightened around her fingers, each pounding clench echoing the pulses that emanated through her. When her orgasm passed, it left her limbs numb and heavy, and she sprawled on the bed, completely spent.

With the last ounce of her energy, she rolled over, curling into herself. And right before she drifted back to sleep, she came to a horrified realization of what she'd done.

o o o o

The rest of Ginny’s weekend—and the week that followed—was spent in distracted confusion caused by sleepless nights. Her dreams were vague and haunting, filled with Malfoy’s kisses, which always escalated to something else, but never quite far enough. As soon as she realized she was dreaming, she’d try to push the dream further, but she always woke up just as she acted on her desire, leaving her unsatisfied unless she finished herself off.

Needless to say, by Thursday morning, she was exhausted, frustrated, and a tiny bit regretful for setting boundaries with Malfoy, and that regret exhausted and frustrated her even more. But when she arrived at her cubicle, Colin was sitting in her chair and she forgot all about Malfoy for just a moment.

He looked up at her with shocked eyes even though he had clearly been waiting for her, and he said her name at the same time she said his.

"I need to talk to you," Ginny said.

"Wait, me first," he said, a tormented expression on his face.

Ginny had meant to speak with him sooner, but she'd hardly been able to concentrate on her work all week long, and, unfortunately, talking to Colin had completely slipped her mind. She was glad to see him and took a seat in the visitor's chair, waving for him to continue. His anxiety took priority over her guilt for forgetting him.

As he twisted his ghostly fingers in agitation, he said, "I never meant to play with your life like a game, but I think you're right that that's exactly what I've been doing. Ever since I... died, nothing has felt real to me. Sometimes I forget that even though nothing I do has consequences for my life anymore, it can still affect yours. I was just trying to help, but I went about it the wrong way. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

Ginny was a little startled at Colin's apology. She certainly hadn't expected such awareness from him, not after the oblivious way he used to behave around Harry at Hogwarts. But Ginny had forgotten that Colin had died at the age of sixteen. He was still just a kid. The fact that he was aware of how his actions had affected Ginny and had apologized for it showed that he had matured.

"Of course I forgive you," she answered. "Actually, I was hoping you could forgive _me_. I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did. I know you were trying to help. I'd just forgotten how young you are—"

"I'm not that young," Colin muttered.

Ginny didn't know what to say to that. Technically, he and Ginny were the same age, but even if his post-death years didn't count, he was still only three and a half years younger than Ginny. At twenty, she wasn't _that_ much older than he was when he died.

"I shouldn't have underestimated you," she added. "In any way. And I hope that we are still friends?"

Now Colin's lips lifted up into a smile. "Of course we are! You're my very best friend, Ginny. You can't shake me that easily."

Ginny's answering smile was one of relief.

"However," he continued, a bit of hesitation in the way his eyes flickered away and back to her. "I did want to ask you for a favor. Er, perhaps in return for keeping an eye on Jason Junker for you."

"Of course! Anything you need!"

"Dennis should be in his seventh year at Hogwarts now, and... I'd like to see him. I've been thinking about this for a while, but I was thinking of taking up residence at Hogwarts, at least until Dennis finishes school, if he doesn't mind. I would appreciate it if you went with me to meet him."

Tears pooled in Ginny's eyes and she blinked as forcefully as she could to keep them from falling in front of Colin. In the instant before she answered, she thought about Fred and what it might have been like to find out three years after his death that he still roamed the earth. Not alive, but still very present. Her happiness at being able to see him again would have been limitless. It might even have engulfed her anger and sadness that he had remained hidden for so long before revealing himself to his family. That Colin wanted her to be present for his reunion with his brother touched her and saddened her in a way she couldn't express in words.

"You're the best Spirit Division Mediator I know, and, honestly, I wouldn't have anyone except my best friend there," he said.

"Yes, of course I'll go with you," Ginny replied, her hands reaching over her desk to grasp Colin's. She shivered when her hands slid right through his, a bone-penetrating chill spreading throughout her whole body, but she held the gesture for his sake, for the normality and solidarity of it.

Colin smiled, and Ginny probably imagined it, but she thought she saw his cheeks grow a little pinker in his delight.

o o o o

Ginny passed her morning by throwing herself into her work. She met with three spirits, and the paperwork their mediation required left her with little else to think about until lunchtime. Once she stepped out of her cubicle to retrieve some lunch, vague memories of her heated dreams from the last few days—and much clearer memories of how she’d responded to those dreams—came flooding to the surface, leaving her a little breathless and her face hot in embarrassment.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered as she waited for the lift. She entered it and pushed a button, though not the button she had originally intended to push, and all the way down to Level Six, she let her thoughts run amok with fantasies of throwing Malfoy over his desk and snogging him senseless. She couldn’t do that, of course. Even though she had an inkling that he would accept such an advance, she wouldn’t do that to him without giving him a choice. _Not again,_ she thought to herself, cringing at the memory of their first kiss.

It horrified her that she felt so strongly about his decision if given such a choice to kiss her or not.

It wasn't until she was standing in front of Malfoy's office that she began to regret her split decision. What reason could she give him for coming to see him? She'd told him upfront, rule Number One with a capital N and a bold numerical digit, that they were not really dating. She couldn't break her own rule, could she? Why did she even want to? Because of some racy dreams?

She idled for too long, and before she worked up the nerve to knock on his door, it opened, just the man she wanted and dreaded to see standing before her.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline for just a moment before he composed himself. "Yes?" he asked.

Ginny glanced at the cloak thrown over his arm and took a step backwards. "Oh. You're going out."

Malfoy's eyes flickered up above Ginny's head. Then he grabbed her hand and entwined his fingers in hers as a slow, secret smile spread across the lips she had been fantasizing about all week. "Did you forget our plans, dearest?"

"Wh-what plans?" she stuttered as he tugged her toward the lifts.

"Our lunch plans, of course. Don't tell me you forgot our date? No need to be shy now that everyone knows our secret."

She realized then that he was playing the game, and a ridiculous swell of disappointment engulfed her that his special attention was feigned. Of course it was. It had been _her_ idea, after all!

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetums,"—his snort made her grin in earnest—"I was just so busy this morning. It completely slipped my mind."

The people they passed as they strolled down the corridor stared, their eyes darting from Malfoy to Ginny with uncertainty and some with disbelief. Ginny even thought she saw her former supervisor, Stephanie, the head of the Spirit Division before Jason Junker, stop in the middle of whatever errand she was running with her jaw to the floor.

"Well, it's a good thing you came to see me, isn't it? I would have been cross if you'd kept me waiting."

Swatting his shoulder, she laughed. "Don't be silly! You could never be cross with me, could you, er, _honey bunches_?"

"Is there a worst term of endearment competition that I wasn't aware of?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"No, but there can be. Loser buys the winner a drink every time someone cringes at their pet name. Deal?"

When Malfoy looked down at her with a look of appreciation she'd never seen before, the funny little pit where her heart normally resided twitched. And when she took his accepted hand to shake on their agreement, the pit grew larger, the twitch twitched harder. Then... she knew she was in trouble.

Alone in a lift going down to Level Eight (such a miraculous occurrence for the lunch hour that Ginny almost suspected foul play in obtaining the elevator car to themselves), Malfoy's smile widened and his eyebrow arched in question.

"Drinks," Ginny said with tongue-tied eloquence. "Er, will you have them with me? Tonight?"

"Is this a date, Weasley? What happened to the first item on your list of rules?" His smirk made her blush in embarrassment that things had reached this point.

She'd started off this charade, not even two whole weeks ago, dreading the performance they would have to put on. She'd been sure every touch was going to burn her with disgust. Instead, each casual graze of skin on skin—more platonic than any touch from Jason Junker had ever been—had ignited her from the inside out, until not touching made her want to combust.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head, and then she said as casually as she could, "Oh, no, don't be silly, Malfoy. Ridiculous! No. It's just that..." She wracked her brain for a reason, _any_ reason. "Junker called me into his office today. He doesn't believe us a bit, and I think we—"

"Did he touch you?" Malfoy interrupted her to ask, and she'd been too preoccupied fabricating an excuse and faking nonchalance that she didn't notice his outrage until she looked up. The wrinkles between his eyebrows slanting over the bridge of his nose took her aback. But the step he took toward her, his hand reaching out but not touching her—involuntary gestures, by the concentrated look on his face as he analyzed hers—warmed her in a way she only vaguely understood.

"Excuse me?"

"When he called you into his office, did he do anything to you?"

Then she recognized his reaction for what it was: protectiveness, concern. However, she was still so very confused. Why would he be protective of her? She began to regret her hasty lie; she never expected him to react the way he did.

"No," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "No, he just, uh, threatened me a little. Said I wasn't convincing anyone, and…."

But she didn't finish the thought, not only because no more words would come to her, but also because he had released his breath in a long, slow exhalation out his mouth. When he breathed in again through his nose, he appeared more composed, the wrinkles in his brow loosening along with the tension.

"Yes, drinks, 7 PM at The Three Broomsticks. You'll have the opportunity to meet my mates."

The lift dinged and opened its doors on the Atrium, ending the second longest elevator ride of Ginny's short Ministry career. Malfoy's mouth twitched up into a smirk, and suddenly he looked like his normal self. Then he hopped off the lift and joined the swarming crowd, leaving Ginny behind in utter confusion about what had just happened.

“Hey, Ginny, going to get some lunch?”

Harry had just exited another lift with his cloak donned and a knitted cap (undoubtedly made for him by Hermione based on its lumpy shape) on his head.

“Oh, yeah, I was. What are you feeling?”

“Ron and I were planning to meet at the cafe across the street if you want to join us.”

Ginny groaned. “Ron’s going to be there?”

Harry nudged her with his elbow. “You can’t hide from your family forever. Especially not Ron.”

With a sigh, Ginny trudged toward the visitor’s entrance. “I was hoping to go to lunch not an interrogation, but, hey, why not? You only live once, right?”

“That’s the spirit,” Harry replied with a smile.

o o o o

Ginny had expected to have a view of the Greengrass’ boutique from the cafe, but the two shops were neighbors, so she only got a glimpse of it as they crossed the street from the telephone booth to the cafe. In the window display was a gorgeous set of dress robes covered in delicate white lace at which Ginny would have loved to take a closer look, but maybe at another time when she wasn’t starving.

“How can they sell dress robes to Muggles? They’re a little different from the typical Muggle dress in style right now.”

They took a seat in a booth at the window as Harry answered. “There are two shopfronts. A little spell hides the magical entrance from Muggles and redirects them to the side entrance. It was Astoria’s idea to start selling to Muggles when Daphne took her on, and she did all the spellwork herself.”

The pride in his voice charmed Ginny and brought a smile to her face. It was nice to see Harry happy. In the last few months of their relationship, neither of them had been truly happy, and they’d known that as much as they wished they could work it out, they just weren’t meant to be in a relationship together. Their split had been amicable, despite the _Prophet_ reporting otherwise.

They watched as Ron finally exited the phone booth and crossed the street to join them, but as soon as he saw Ginny sitting across from Harry, his expression soured.

“What’s this traitor doing here?” he groused as he scooted into the booth next to Harry.

She slammed her menu down on the table, her frustration with her brother’s stubbornness at its limit. “Who exactly have I betrayed?”

“Your whole family!” Ron hissed, his face growing redder in agitation. “We’re blood! You can’t—you can’t fraternize with the enemy like that!”

“Okay,” Ginny said, sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest. “I just want to make sure I’ve got this straight because these politics get confusing so fast and I want to understand everything you’re saying.”

If Ron hadn’t been so riled up, he would have become wary at her tone. Both Harry and Ron were familiar with the unforgiving expression on her face that signaled the start of an argument—an argument they were about to lose—but only Harry shrank into his seat, trying to make himself smaller. And he wasn’t even the one her ire was directed at. Had Ron been smarter, he would have apologized immediately, before she started her tirade.

Eyes narrowing, Ginny lowered her voice to a threatening volume. “Are you calling me a blood traitor for associating with someone who aligns himself with a group of people that we don’t associate with? Because you’re sounding an awful lot like a Malfoy right now except that Draco Malfoy has said nothing but kind things to me and done nothing but kind things for me since we began dating three weeks ago. I hope you’re _not_ calling me a blood traitor, Ronald Weasley, because I’d hate to see the look on our mother’s face if she knew you were spitting such vitriolic remarks.”

Ron was cowed into silence, his lips pressed together so tightly they’d turned white. His brows were still slanted in resentment, but he didn’t say a word.

Ginny continued in the same unforgiving tone. “Whether you like it or not, Draco Malfoy is a good man and he’s my boyfriend. I’m not ignorant to the things he’s done, and I haven’t forgotten them, either, but I have forgiven them. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth and tolerate him with as much kindness as he’s shown me! Do I make myself clear?”

Ron nodded slowly and then pulled up his menu to hide his petulant face.

Ginny’s eyes darted to Harry, who nodded in appreciation and gave her a surreptitious thumbs up. She exhaled, her angry tension dissipating, and grinned. “Okay, so who’s buying my lunch?”

o o o o

Ginny managed to keep her thoughts occupied throughout the rest of the work day. She refused to let herself dwell on her racy dreams, and she _definitely_ refused to think about her evening plans with Draco. Whenever her mind wandered anywhere near the subject, her whole body froze, and she shook her head to dislodge the thoughts.

Ridiculous. She could not be looking forward to having drinks with him. That would just be utterly ridiculous!

Instead, she let herself re-imagine the scene with Ron at lunch. Her brother’s cowed and sullen expression left a smug smirk on her face, but it troubled her how easily she defended Draco. Was her newfound crush—and though she loathed to admit it, she did recognize when she fancied someone—due to the idea of Draco she’d been representing to her friends and family? Her defense of Draco at lunch at the Burrow last Saturday and at the cafe earlier that day… had she defended him so vehemently because their ruse required a convincing performance or because she truly believed there was something in him worth noticing?

As she finished up her last bit of paperwork for the day, she told herself for the hundredth time that the person Draco pretended to be when he was with her wasn’t his true self. The Draco Malfoy she was dating was as fabricated as the relationship they were in.

By the time Ginny reached the Atrium to Floo home, she was frustrated with the turn of her thoughts, but a glimpse of the red phone booth traveling up to the visitor’s entrance sidetracked her. She had some time to kill before she met Malfoy and his friends at The Three Broomsticks—an event she was _not_ going to think about until seven that evening—so she made her way back up to the surface, just as she and Harry had for lunch earlier in the day.

The lacy, white dress robes Ginny had glimpsed in the Greengrass’ shop window earlier were even more gorgeous upon her second viewing. Now she noticed the tiny pearls beaded along the bodice, giving the robes an iridescent shine. Above the window hung a sign that said _Designs by Daphne_ written with a sophisticated flourish. Flowers draped over the edge of the roof and vines crawling up the brick around the window gave the shop a charming, inviting front.

A tinkling bell rang as she opened the door, but no one came out to greet her. The inside of the shop mirrored the outside in that the setup was busy but inviting. Mannequins modeling different robe designs littered the open spaces of floor where shelves and shop racks were absent, which meant Ginny had to wind her way around obstacles, but she saw more of the wares than she would have had there been clearer aisle space. It didn’t take long for her attention to be captured by a particular rack of blue robes.

She only looked up when she heard a door close in another part of the shop—and then voices.

“I had hoped to speak to your sister. Is she available?” one voice inquired in a haughty, demanding tone.

The next voice was soft and difficult to hear from where Ginny was standing at the front of the shop lodged behind a mannequin and between two racks. “Unfortunately she came down with a cold today. Is there something I can help you with, Mrs. Malfoy?”

The blood drained right out of Ginny’s face, and, instinctively, she dived into the middle of the circular rack on her left, crouching to the floor so as not to be seen. She couldn’t deal with Draco’s mother without him there, and she knew if Narcissa Malfoy spotted her, she would probably stop to interrogate her. Her heart pounded as the voices came closer.

“My son is under the impression that neither one of you would have him.”

A pause, and then a polite: “He’s correct about that.”

“Well? Whyever not!”

“Let’s just say my sister has a proclivity for the fairer sex. And I’m dating Harry Potter. Besides, I heard Draco is seeing someone.”

“Yes, a most unsuitable girl,” Mrs. Malfoy said, displeasure dripping from her words. “If you could be persuaded to end your liaison with Potter, our family could offer yours so much… money, connections, status... the very things the Greengrasses aren’t known for.”

As carefully as she could, Ginny made a part in the robes hanging in front of her face to see out, her heart pounding in anger now. Harry was clearly so smitten with Astoria; if she thought she could just dump him so she could be accepted as one of the elite, she had another thing coming!

But even though Astoria was smiling at Narcissa, who had a cajoling expression on her face, her lips were clenched tightly together. She looked on the verge of snapping.

“My parents love Harry dearly, as… as do I! You can’t buy me, Mrs. Malfoy. And I feel safe speaking for my sister when I say she, too, would never accept Draco, and there is nothing you could offer either of us to make us change our minds. Unless you plan to purchase something from me, I think our business is done here.”

Mrs. Malfoy stood still for a moment longer, her own lips compressed in disapproval, and then, without another word, she stalked out of the shop’s front door.

Ginny wondered if she should wait until Astoria left the room before climbing out from the rack, and then pretend she had just entered the boutique, missing all the drama, but Astoria began to straighten up a display and showed no sign of leaving. Her face heated in embarrassment, she climbed through the part she’d made in the robes and stood up, clearing her throat slightly as she did so.

Astoria did not startle at the sight of her; she merely raised her eyebrows. “Have you been hiding this whole time?”

The flush in Ginny’s face traveled to the rest of her body. “No. Just when I realized it was Mrs. Malfoy you were speaking to. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Astoria shrugged, but didn’t come closer. Instead, the two women sized each other up, and Ginny wasn’t sure what Astoria sought, but Ginny wanted to assess the younger woman’s worthiness for Harry.

Astoria Greengrass was slight and definitely young, maybe fresh out of Hogwarts. Her robes must have been one of her sister’s designs because they were made of the same light, floaty material that could be seen throughout the shop, and the beadwork on the bodice was as intricately beautiful as the beadwork on the dress robes Ginny had admired in the front window. Seeing such strikingly soft clothing on a person had a different effect than it did on a mannequin, and Ginny could see how precious the clothes were, how impractical, even if they were beautiful. Astoria wore them like a second skin, the same way Narcissa Malfoy might have worn jewels: as a birthright. Seeing Astoria in a robe her sister designed only highlighted the difference between the two women. Ever since she’d begun working for the Ministry, Ginny had lived a comfortable life, but she harbored no ideas of ever being wealthy. It was immediately apparent why Astoria had caught Harry’s eye.

If Ginny hadn’t witnessed the altercation with Mrs. Malfoy, she would have assumed Astoria to be as snobbish as the Malfoys and their acquaintances, but clearly the Greengrass family wasn’t held in very high regard. If she hadn’t overheard her discussion with Draco’s mother, Ginny might have also assumed, incorrectly, that Astoria was weak-willed. But she had a backbone underneath her girlish looks, and that, more than anything, endeared her to Ginny. In that way, the two women were alike.

Ginny finally broke their standoff with a grin. “I suppose Harry’s chosen all right. A woman who can stand up to Narcissa Malfoy can stand up to media intrigue. Harry needs a woman who won’t bend under pressure.”

The corners of Astoria’s lips lifted, but there was a chilliness behind her smile. “I’m so glad you approve. I noticed you were hiding while I was dealing with Mrs. Malfoy.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Well, as we both know, Harry and I weren’t right for each other, so that’s not really surprising, is it?”

The other woman tilted her head slightly. “And what is it about Harry that makes him right for me? What kind of man do I need?”

“I… I don’t really know you, so how could I assume….”

“Exactly,” Astoria said, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume that Harry _chose_ me or make remarks about what kind of woman he needs. We’re independent of each other. We just choose to spend time together!”

All Ginny could do for several tense moments was blink in response. And then she laughed because she couldn’t help herself. Hadn’t she scolded Ron for doing the same thing to her two weeks ago? Defining Astoria, a woman Ginny didn’t know at all, by her relationship to Harry wasn’t fair. Ginny steadied herself with a hand on a mannequin as she doubled over laughing. By the time her guffaws had turned into giggles, there were tears of mirth in her eyes, and Astoria was staring at her as if she were an infant Blast-Ended Skrewt (though Astoria and Ginny both were too young to have experienced Hagrid’s infamous Care of Magical Creatures lesson).

“I’m sorry!” Ginny finally said, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. “You’re completely right. I shouldn’t have said such a silly thing. In fact, if someone had said it to me, I would have had the exact same reaction!”

But Astoria didn’t seem appeased. She had crossed her arms over her chest, and she was eyeing Ginny as if Ginny was going to explode any second.

“Is it just a coincidence that you were hiding in my shop while your boyfriend’s mother was here, trying to convince me to marry your boyfriend?” she asked, wary suspicion in her eyes.

Ginny coughed, the last of her laughter fading away. “Actually, yes. I saw the robes in the front window earlier this afternoon, and I wanted to take a closer look. And… Harry speaks so highly of you. I just wanted to meet you. Honestly, I didn’t know Draco’s mother was going to be here.”

“Hmph.” Astoria turned her attention back to the display she’d been organizing before Ginny made her presence known, and Ginny clenched her fists in frustration at herself. Harry really liked this woman, and she was sure he would want them to get along. Had she done something to offend her without realizing it?

“It was, er, nice to meet you. I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Astoria spun around, a crease in her brow and a blazing look in her eye. “I don’t care that I live up to some ridiculous expectation you had. You don’t get to decide who is good enough for Harry and who isn’t.” She waved her hands in agitation, as if she were reaching for one of the folded shawls on the display table beside her but couldn’t choose one. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been good enough for him? Would you have taken him back? Doesn’t it bother you that Narcissa Malfoy tried to make me or my sister take Draco from you?”

Ginny would have laughed again if it hadn’t been a wildly inappropriate reaction. Her lips did twitch, but she used the involuntary reaction to her advantage. “Listen to you. What do you mean ‘take Draco from me’? Doesn’t Draco get a choice in who _he_ wants to be with? He’s _my_ boyfriend; I’d like to see you or your sister even try to take him from me! He wouldn’t have either of you.

“Harry is my friend. We both agreed that we don’t work together as a couple, so you don’t have to worry about me interfering in your relationship or stealing him back. Harry and Draco are both capable of making their own decisions, and if you think there’s a chance Harry would leave you for me, I only have two things to say to you: One, you don’t know Harry at all, and two, you obviously have some things to work out with him.”

She lifted her nose in the air, adopting for just a moment the supercilious attitude Narcissa had used on Astoria earlier, and Astoria, who had been unflinching under Mrs. Malfoy’s gaze, now looked stricken.

“But that’s none of my business, is it?” Ginny finished. Then she left the shop before the situation became more toxic than it already was.

“Well, I never!” said one of the mannequins over the sound of the bell tinkling as the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that I was most disappointed with when I submitted this story for the fic exchange was that I didn't add more Astoria/Harry. Astoria didn't show up at all in the fic exchange version of TDC, so I wanted to make sure Ginny at least _met_ her in this version. There will be more Astoria soon. :)


	6. A Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Smut exists in this chapter. If that's not your thing, you can sort of skip from this paragraph: "He didn’t want to think about dating. He didn’t want to commit to anything. He just… wanted." to the next o o o o chapter break. Might be a good idea to skim, though.

Draco tossed back his shot of Firewhisky and signaled to the bartender to cut him off. A bottle of butterbeer slid down the bar and into his hand a moment later. 

“Really, Draco? A butterbeer? How old are you, twelve?” Pansy said with a scathing laugh.

“What?” Draco answered defensively. “I like the bubbles.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Theo? _He likes the bubbles._ ”

“Yes, I heard, sweetheart. There’s nothing wrong with liking bubbles,” Theodore Nott replied indulgently. “They’re effervescent and fun.”

“You know who’s not effervescent and fun?” Pansy mock-whispered to Draco. She gestured in her husband’s direction. Theodore had just pulled out a quill and a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , and he’d settled down with his redcurrant rum to do the crossword puzzle.

“He’s such a joy to have around,” Draco said with a shake of his head. “Why do we bring him to these things?”

“Because,” Pansy answered with a shrug, “once you get married, you’re attached to the hip. Where I go, he goes. Where he goes, I go. Sometimes. When I feel like it.” She shrugged again and took a drink of her screwdriver.

“You can’t make up rules and then break them like that,” Draco said.

“Sure I can. Every rule has an exception, Draco. When are we going to meet your lady love?”

“If she shows up, any minute now,” he answered with a glance at his watch.

“Why wouldn’t she show up?”

Draco recalled his sudden anger in the lift earlier that day, when Ginevra mentioned Jason Junker’s threats toward her, and wondered what she had thought of his reaction. _He_ certainly didn’t know what to make of it. If he could explain their scheme to Pansy, maybe he could get some insight on the incident, but he hesitated.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, slapping him on the arm.

“You’re coming on too strongly, dear,” Theodore said from Pansy’s left without looking up from his crossword puzzle.

“Too strongly? I asked him a question and he’s not answering. He needs to answer my questions.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Once Pansy got her mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to deter her from it. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”

So he did. He told her how the act started and about daily flowers delivered to Ginevra’s desk and about lunch at the Weasley household and about the lift. He did not tell her about his feverish dreams or about how that one kiss had flustered him to the point of needing a wank. He definitely did not tell her how many times he had wanked off in the last two weeks. He had _some_ pride, okay?

“Oh, sweetie,” she said at the end of his tale, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture as she reached for her drink again. “You fancy her, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Draco asked. “What do you mean ‘that’s all’? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Why? She’s a pureblood. She’s somewhat pretty. She has some talent on a broomstick, which might come in handy in the bedroom, I’m just saying.”

Draco had no words, especially since an unnecessary piece of anatomy quite enjoyed the idea of imagining Ginevra Weasley putting her Quidditch skills to use in the bedroom. It didn’t matter that his freakish fantasy featured the voice of Lee Jordan announcing, “She’s caught the Snitch, folks! 150 points to Gryffindor!” as Ginevra orgasmed. As ridiculous as it was, his blood ran due south and his ability to string words together disappeared.

He fidgeted on his barstool, trying to rearrange his robes.

“Oh, look, here she comes now,” Pansy hissed.

Draco turned at the exact moment she entered the pub, golden light from the hearth framing her in the doorway, making her fair red hair glow as if ignited. She’d discarded her work robes and donned some jeans and a sweater with a large letter G knitted on the front, and her old cloak rustled as wind blew into the pub from outside.

She spotted Draco at the bar and approached with what he thought was a guarded smile.

“Snookums!” she greeted, wrapping both her arms around one of his. “It’s been too long.”

Pansy gestured towards Ginevra to stop her. “Honey, please. There’s no need.”

"You told her? I thought you said we had to convince your friends and family, too?" She seemed more disappointed than angry, which was an interesting reaction. Maybe she was having too much fun with the act.

"Relax, darling. Like we ever would have believed that you and Draco were seriously dating," Pansy answered with a snort.

Ginevra’s brow furrowed in annoyance. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Draco frowned as Pansy cackled at the question.

“Seriously?” she said between two overly loud peals of laughter. “How could Draco ever score _you_. You’re way out of his league.”

 _"Me?"_ Ginevra exclaimed at the same time that Draco said in shocked outrage, _“Excuse me?”_

“Don’t let him fool you, Draco really is pathetic at heart,” Pansy continued with a shrug.

"That's quite enough of that!"

“Oh, I know the truth when I hear it. I just never imagined hearing one of you lot throw one of your own under the Knight Bus. Even if it is the truth,” Ginevra interrupted.

Pansy bristled with the same anger that niggled at Draco’s pride upon hearing Ginevra’s words. “One of my lot?” she repeated in a tone that made Theodore lift his eyes from his crossword puzzle and place a gentle finger on her arm in warning.

“Yeah, you know,” Ginevra answered with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Slytherin, pureblood, rich, entitled. Your lot.”

The tension immediately melted away as Pansy broke down cackling again and Draco’s body relaxed. _Your lot_ could have meant plenty of things, but it had felt like a jab at their families’ affiliations. A deserved jab, perhaps, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel defensive every time Death Eaters were brought up.

It took a few moments for Pansy to recover her breath, during which Ginevra waited patiently and tried to contain her smile.

“Well, normally you’d be right, but Draco is a special case. I’ve known him much too long to spare him from the truth. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Ginevra did—finally—but suddenly Draco was not too happy about it. If he’d known this night was going to turn into a pick-on-Draco party, he never would have agreed to Ginevra reuniting with Pansy. The two together would be disastrous to the respectable reputation Draco was trying to cultivate. At the same time, though, he couldn’t help but be pleased that no hexes had been exchanged yet. He released the mental breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and realized that all night he’d been waiting for some kind of shoe to drop.

Ginevra ordered a Firewhisky on the rocks and then turned to Draco, her eyebrow arched.

“No, nothing for me. I’ll stick with butterbeer,” he answered, even though she never voiced a question.

“Butterbeer?”

“He likes the bubbles,” Pansy chimed in, to Draco’s chagrin.

“Well, that’s no fun.” Ginevra said, and then she ordered a butterbeer, too.

Draco hissed when Pansy slapped his arm. Her eyebrows rose as she said, “Shouldn’t you introduce your lady friend? We wouldn’t want her to think you have no manners, would we?” 

Ginevra, who was filling her glass of Firewhisky with butterbeer, snorted. “We know each other Parkinson.”

“Actually, it’s Nott now,” Draco corrected her.

Pansy wiggled her fingers at Ginevra, showcasing the enormous diamond on her hand.

Ginevra’s brows rose, but her expression was neutral. “Oh, are you married? I couldn’t tell with that ring blinding me.”

Pansy tugged Theodore around, forcing him to join the group for the first time, and laid her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I’m afraid so. My mother was desperate to secure a respectable match after the war, and when Draco’s father went to Azkaban, he no longer applied as an option. So she searched elsewhere.”

“Was he ever an option?” she asked, side-eyeing Draco.

“She likes to think so, but no,” he answered, smirking when Pansy smacked his arm again.

“Why not?”

“She asks a bloody lot of questions, Draco. Didn’t you train her any better?”

Ginevra’s smile was wide and insincere as she said, “I won’t be silenced by a man.”

“Clearly,” Pansy muttered as she finished off her screwdriver. “Bartender, another!” The drink came in due time, and she turned her attention back to Ginevra. “Don’t get me wrong, I like you. You’re direct, to the point, and I appreciate that. I don’t have time for games.”

“Is there a reason your husband keeps to himself then?”

Pansy’s eyes darted up to Theodore, who had most of the crossword puzzle filled in, and then she shrugged. Draco had forgotten how much she did that. “He’s boring. Believe it or not, he’s great in bed, though.”

Ginevra burst out laughing at the admission, and Pansy smiled into her glass. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. No hexes were going to be exchanged tonight. He could tell when Pansy sincerely liked a person, and that secret smile was one of her tells. She wasn’t as cold as she liked to appear, not towards Draco, her husband, or even Ginevra.

Ginevra slid her glass over to Draco and prompted him to try her cocktail. The sting of the Firewhisky and the smooth sweetness of the butterbeer blended together surprisingly well. The bubbles in the butterbeer soothed Draco’s throat with each harsh sip, and before he’d taken a fourth sip, he took possession of her drink. She merely smiled as she ordered another Firewhisky and poured the rest of her bottle of butterbeer into it.

Draco was not ignorant to Pansy’s observant eyes as this exchange occurred.

But he did become a little less vigilant about her observant stares as he downed another Butterwhisky (the name of their new cocktail). As they squandered the evening with drink and more laughter than Draco was used to, he even forgot about his unease concerning the lift incident earlier in the day. It didn’t even matter because Butterwhiskys were _delicious_ , the perfect blend of sweetness, alcohol, and bubbles.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ginevra said as she took Draco’s glass right out of his hand. He fought her for half a second and then let her have it. Because he was a gentleman. “We still have to work tomorrow, mister. I’m not in the habit of calling in sick for a hangover.”

“Why not?” Draco asked, a bit too absorbed by her red, drunken cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. “It’s effervescent and fun.”

“Yeah,” Pansy agreed, her normally pale face full of color and her head drooping like a wilted flower. “Live a little, Welsley!”

“I wish I could. We should do this again sometime.”

Draco was surprised how much he wanted the four of them to get together again. At first, when he’d arrived at The Three Broomsticks and explained that his new girlfriend, the illustrious Ginny Weasley, was going to be joining them, he’d dreaded their reunion, sure that they would clash like oil and water. That hadn’t been the case at all, and it was strange how important it was to him that the two women got along. He hadn’t even realized the importance until they’d already announced their like for one another.

Theodore looked up from the book he’d been reading since finishing his crossword puzzle. The same glass of redcurrant rum sat in front of him, almost finished. “Do you need me to Apparate you home?” he asked Ginevra.

She seemed startled by the offer for a moment, and then her lips spread into a wide smile. “Oh, thank you so much, but no. I think I’ll manage.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Draco said, placing a hand on her back as they guided each other through the pub and out the door. They were both pretty drunk and stumbling was a given.

“I had a really good night, Draco,” she said as the cold air cooled their heated cheeks. Her eyelids were drooping and her ears were the color of her jumper, more maroon than scarlet.

“M-me too,” he replied, feeling like the twelve year old Pansy had accused him of being earlier that evening.

He put his hands on her arms to steady himself, and she rocked up on her toes to press her lips gently against his. Without meaning to, his grip tightened on her arms, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she took a step closer and reached up to grasp his face, her freezing hands thawing on his warm cheeks. Her head turned just so to give him better access to her lips.

She tasted like fire and honey, and he could have sworn he felt bubbles bursting on his tongue.

Even after she withdrew, Draco didn’t let go of her waist, and their mouths emitted little puffs of crystallized air as they tried to catch their breaths. She looked up into his eyes one last time, and then she stepped further out of his reach and Disapparated on the spot. His fingers rose to prod his swollen lips, and his tongue poked out to taste what was left of the Butterwhisky.

He was beaming as he returned to the bar, where Theodore was still enraptured by his book and Pansy had finally managed to lift her head.

“I hate to break it to you, Draco, but you two aren’t pretending to date. You _are_ dating.”

o o o o

Pansy’s words stayed in Draco’s head as he stumbled out of the Floo, nearly crashing into the ottoman in front of the fireplace. He steadied himself as best as he could with all the alcohol in his system and navigated the dark room to the door. The staircase leading up to the east wing of the manor was going to be a problem in its own right, but as long as Draco kept both hands on the railing as he went up, he would be fine.

It would certainly brass his mother off to find him at the bottom of the stairs, drunk and with broken limbs, but that was one stunt he was not willing to pull in order to annoy her.

What did Pansy think she was talking about anyway? _Draco_ fancy a _Weasley_? HA! If that wasn’t the most idiotic thing he’d ever heard! Draco was _pretending_ to fancy Ginevra, didn’t Pansy get that? They were only _pretending_ to date. And he had really good reasons for the farce, too! Like… like… to annoy Potter. Unfortunately, that hadn’t turned out as Draco had planned.

Or… to annoy Ginevra’s family. That had gone a little better, what with Ron’s apoplectic fits every time he saw Ginevra and Draco together. But Ginevra’s parents had chosen to be polite in Draco’s presence. He had no idea what they were saying to or about Ginevra behind his back, but the all-out family brawl Draco had envisioned was clearly never going to happen. Not where Draco could witness it anyway.

And then there was Draco’s family. His father was oblivious of his son’s activities because he was currently sitting in Azkaban, and his mother wholly disapproved of his relationship. Her reaction had been an unprecedented success. He had never imagined the extent of her abhorrence for the situation.

Unfortunately, now his mother was even more desperate to see him married (to someone other than Ginevra Weasley), which had caused part of Draco’s ire towards her in the first place. He’d thought—incorrectly, apparently—that showing some initiative to date would get his mother off his back. He’d been wrong.

Those were his only reasons for dating Ginevra Weasley. He did not—repeat: _did not_ —fancy her. Not one bit. She didn’t make his heart beat erratically. She wasn’t an amusing companion. He did not fantasize about having her in his bed. Or hers. Draco wasn’t really picky where fantasies were concerned. Sometimes he fantasized about clandestine liaisons in broom closets at work—Wait, no! He did not fantasize about her!

And no matter what Pansy thought, they weren’t actually dating!

“Draco, is that you?” his mother said from the second floor landing.

“No,” he answered. “It’s the Minister of Magic.”

Feet padded down the stairs, stopping on the step Draco was lingering on. His mother jerked his face up, and he blinked in the light of her wand.

“You’re drunk!”

He pulled his face out of her hand with a slurred, “No shit.”

And then he was shocked with a slap to the face.

“Do not speak to me that way, Draco. If your father were here—”

“But he’s not, is he?” he snarled back. “He’s in prison like the respectable man he is.”

“And we nearly joined him. We are fortunate to have our freedom.” Narcissa’s bristling anger made the wand light flicker, but Draco ignored her words, ignored the tone in which she said them.

They were free because Harry fucking Potter spoke on their behalf, but there was nothing even Potter could have done to save Draco’s father from prison, even if he’d wanted to save him from such a fate. Draco _was_ grateful that he wasn’t rotting in a prison cell at that very moment. If Narcissa hadn’t lied to the Dark Lord, if she hadn’t saved Potter’s life, that was exactly where they would have ended up, but Draco didn’t owe his mother his freedom—he owed Potter. And just because her actions made Potter pity them didn’t mean she deserved Draco’s respect.

He didn’t say any of the things that he’d wanted to say since the war ended because they didn’t make sense, and he didn’t know how to come to terms with them. He was angry at both of his parents because of how he’d suffered during the war. His whole family’s lives had been in his hands, and that was directly the fault of his father for screwing up his own mission so badly that the Dark Lord chose to punish him by giving Draco an impossible mission of his own. But he knew his mother had never approved of Draco’s task. He knew she’d worried about him and cared about him, and he knew she’d asked Snape to help him. His parents weren’t heartless, they’d just been reckless.

Draco realized now how unpopular his family was in light of the war. He knew how people looked at them, and after working at the Ministry for the last couple years, he knew exactly what people thought of them. He couldn’t fake his way back to popularity when his mother was trying to build an alliance between the Malfoys and another acceptable pureblood family, essentially continuing the status quo that had worked _so well_ for them in recent years. How could she pretend that nothing had happened when everything had changed?

He was too drunk to wade through his thoughts about the war and his parents. He didn’t want to dwell on them, and he wanted no part of his mother’s plans. He just… he just wanted to drink Butterwhiskys with Ginevra Weasley and taste her laughter on her lips.

He shoved past his mother and was relieved when she didn’t try to stop him again. He stumbled all the way to his room and then fell on his bed, still fully-clothed.

Pansy’s words floated through his head as he replayed that final kiss with Ginevra before she’d Apparated home: _I hate to break it to you, Draco, but you two aren’t pretending to date. You_ are _dating._

Were they? Did he want to?

Did it matter?

He didn’t want to think about dating. He didn’t want to commit to anything. He just… wanted.

His lips puckered against the darkness in remembrance, and goosebumps popped up all over his skin as his hands recalled the warmth and softness of Ginny’s waist. His imagination ran wild as he moved his hands to his face, pretending her hands were stroking his cheeks, his lips. He kissed his hand as he pretended it was hers, and he refused to think how idiotic he looked. Draco wasn’t sober, so he didn’t care. He just wanted.

He wanted her hands to roam lower to his chest, to unbutton his robes. He wanted her lips pressed against his heated skin. Warmth flooded his body, and his cock came to life at the thought of her hands slipping under the band of his pants.

But she wasn’t there, so Draco cupped his erection instead, and then he wrapped his fingers firmly around his semi-erect length. His eyes fluttered closed, not that it mattered in his pitch-dark bedroom, but the thought of her hands on him was too much to bear, even though it wasn’t real. While one hand began to stroke himself, the other tickled the skin of his stomach, his chest, his neck, in a wandering path that had no destination except for pleasure. Here his imagination faltered. Did he want to pretend his hand was hers? Or did he want to pretend that he was touching her?

He decided instead to stop thinking. Under his ministrations, his cock become hard like iron, and then he released it, leaving it to lay flat and hot against his belly. His breath became a little more labored from the ache, like a dull throbbing constricting his throat, so he moved quick. In one fluid motion, he sat up and pulled his robes up over his head, and in another he removed his underpants, throwing the restrictive garmets to the floor without the care he usually afforded his clothing.

A moan fell from his lips as he laid back against his pillows and wrapped his hand around his length again. His hips jerked when he remembered the buttery sting of her lips after a night of drinking butterbeer mixed with Firewhisky. Their second kiss had been as different from their first as night and day. Both good, both soft, and sweet and— _oh, fuck!_ —warm, but there was an openness to their second kiss that hadn’t been present in the first.

Their first kiss had been unexpected. Their second had been mutual.

His head fell to the side as a groan escaped his throat. All his blood had rushed due south, making it hard for him to fantasize about anything in particular or even think. Instead, he recalled flashes: a black dress with a plunging back that revealed an expanse of smooth skin—fingers gently tracing the Dark Mark branded on his forearm—freckles, freckles everywhere, visible and hidden—soft smiles throughout lunch—a desperate, hunted look in her eyes— 

His body froze in the middle of thrusting against his hand, and the agony of not completing the gesture sobered him up a little more.

What the fuck was he doing? This felt… wrong. On too many levels. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want Ginevra Weasley, because if he really wanted her, that meant he would be torturing himself by continuing their charade. He’d considered his options before he’d agreed to help her. Draco had known from the beginning that sex was not part of the deal, and yet he’d been so sure of his _not_ wanting her, he hadn’t properly considered the possibility that he _could_. How long could he go on like this, sending her flowers during the day and then spending a friendly evening with her just for him to go home alone to wank into his cold hand at the memory of her kisses? Knowing, as they played their roles, that she felt nothing for him except gratitude that he had chosen to help her and anger that she’d needed his help at all?

How could he think about her so blatantly while masturbating, when she was being stalked by her creepy boss? How was he any different from Jason Junker if he continued like this?

As he angrily shoved his pants back on while trying to ignore his wilting erection, Draco wondered why he even cared.

o o o o

The next morning, Draco dragged himself into work in a foul mood. He’d hardly slept the night before thanks to his thoughts racing back and forth and the annoying matter of his blue balls. The sight of Jason Junker as soon as he stepped out of the lift on Level Six did nothing to improve his mood.

“Don’t you work on Level Four?” Draco asked as he not so accidentally bumped into a preoccupied Junker.

Junker opened his mouth to berate whoever had been so rude, but upon seeing Draco’s tall form, his jaw clenched closed again. A moment passed and then he laughed as if he’d never been bothered.

“Like you don’t know! Ginny must speak highly of her favorite boss!”

Draco didn’t have to force the sneer that appeared on his face; it came to him naturally. “I’m afraid we have better things to do than discuss work. But it’s cute that you think we’d give you our attention when we’re alone together.”

It didn’t escape his notice when Junker’s lip curled at the word ‘alone,’ but the expression was gone a split-second later, leaving Draco to wonder if he had imagined it.

“No, no, of course not. Why would you discuss me when you have such a… gorgeous specimen to discuss instead.”

Draco might have pitied any other man who spoke about women the way Junker did, but there was something slimy about Junker, something oblivious and deliberate at the same time. As if he knew how people would react to his words but thought they were acceptable to say anyway. Even worse, he acted like someone who didn’t care who he disturbed. Clearly by his treatment of Ginny, that was true.

“Right,” Draco said. “Well, I don’t want to be late.”

He’d thought the dismissal was clear in his voice, but Junker followed him like a puppy, drool and all.

“Speaking of that gorgeous specimen, how is she? You know, in bed?” The disgust on Draco’s face must have been obvious, because Junker added, “What’s a little man talk between two friendly men?”

“I’m not friendly,” Draco groused.

Junker’s attention wavered as a fairly pretty brunette suddenly stopped in the corridor, her eyes widening at the sight of Draco and Junker together. Draco had seen her around the office on occasion, but she worked in a different area of Magical Transportation, so he didn’t know her name.

That was remedied immediately.

Junker’s eyes brightened as he called out, “Stephanie! I’ve been looking for you!” 

Stephanie quickly took off in the opposite direction, clearly uninterested in Junker’s query, and Junker followed after her without so much as a farewell to Draco.

Thankful for the providence that took Junker away from him, Draco made his way to his office to begin his wretched day. But even in his office, he would find no peace. His thoughts kept wandering to the previous night, to drinks with Ginny and his friends, to what he’d done in the darkness of his bedroom and the preposterous reason he’d stopped. To Pansy’s nonsensical words before and after Ginny had left the pub.

_Oh, sweetie. You fancy her, that’s all._

_I hate to break it to you, Draco, but you two aren’t pretending to date. You_ are _dating._

Absolutely ridiculous. If anyone knew how to compartmentalize feelings, it was Draco, and he couldn’t compartmentalize them if he couldn’t identify them, so he knew exactly how he felt. He most certainly did _not_ think Ginevra Weasley was gorgeous, funny, or intriguing. He did _not_ delight in their banter—when they were faking their relationship or otherwise. He did _not_ dream about her passionate kisses or her flaming hair or her annoying brown eyes.

Sometimes he thought about strangling Jason Junker for harassing her—that’s what that concern in the lift the previous day was all about, wasn’t it?—but that was because he was a decent human being, not because he liked her, right?

Oh wizard God. If he’d reached the point where he thought being a decent human being was the better alternative to admitting he admired a woman and wanted to turn their fake relationship into a real one… then he was in deep. Deep denial, maybe, but deep nonetheless.

There was only one course of action, then. He had to resist his feelings. He had to continue denying her charms. If anyone asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to give a proper answer. _Just because_ was reason enough for him. Sure, pretend-dating Ginny Weasley was fun and accomplished the goal of pissing off as many people as possible, but he wasn’t supposed to want it to be real. In fact, he _didn’t_ want it to be real. He didn’t want to date her at all. He just wanted other things from her that she couldn’t give him and that he couldn’t ask for. Not from her. Not while Jason Junker was still preying on her.

He wasn’t being decent; he was trying to protect himself. You know, from future cases of blue balls. That was all.

He’d been going back and forth on this fake relationship business for over an hour without touching the pile of Floo applications on his desk when Colin Creevey poked his head—literally—through the door and looked around.

“ _Pssst!_ Malfoy, hey,” he called in a whispering voice.

Draco glanced at his two coworkers sitting behind their desks, who eyed Draco and Colin as if they were pests, and then went to the door to see what Creevey wanted.

“I need to talk to you. _Alone_.”

“Where can we go to be _alone_ , Creevey?”

The ghost gestured for him to follow, and Draco rolled his eyes at all his secrecy. But he was, apparently, a decent human being, so he humored the guy. He was dead after all, and how can you say no to a dead kid?

When Creevey led him to a ladies’ out-of-order loo, Draco stopped.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“As a grave. Get in! It’s the only place on this level where we won’t be interrupted.”

Only when the door was closed and locked behind them did Creevey finally release his held breath. Figuratively speaking, that is. And as soon as his (figurative) breath left his lips, words followed after, fast, like water that had broken free from a dam.

“Okay, so Ginny asked me to keep an eye on Jason Junker for her to let her know when he became interested in someone else, and I have to tell you, I saw some things I never wanted to see. If I had eyeballs, I would have bleached them already, but I don’t because I’m dead. But, anyway, this woman in the Creatures Division noticed that I was following him around, so she started following _me_ around, and I thought at first that maybe she fancied me, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I pretended I never saw her, even though she’s really pretty and it would be hard to—”

“Creevey,” Draco growled, his arms crossed over his chest. “Get to the point, will you? I’m standing in the ladies’ bathroom talking to a ghost. I’m having war flashbacks here.”

The ghost’s brow creased in confusion, but he took Draco’s comment in stride. “Oh, sorry. Anyway, she finally told me why she’s been following me around, and she said that her friend Stephanie was the Spirit Division Head before Junker, and Stephanie got a new position in Magical Transportation because Junker was harassing her so much and she couldn’t take it anymore. And, the thing is, I don’t know what to tell Ginny, because Junker hasn’t given up on her.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “He does unspeakable things with an old picture of her from the Prophet when he’s alone in his office. Which is _all_ the time, Malfoy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I understand,” he answered with an impatient huff. His jaw was clenched as tight as his fists as he went over what Creevey had just said to him. Would Ginny quit her job, too, if Junker didn’t stop? He wanted to say she wouldn't, but she’d been driven to such desperation that she’d lied to her family about a relationship she didn’t have with Draco—and then she’d made that relationship a reality for their sakes as well as Junker’s. If her ruse didn’t work, what else could she do?

“What do you want me to do about it?” Draco asked.

Creevey bit his lip, his eyes darting away.

“Just spit it out,” Draco said, his patience wearing thin.

“I don’t know. I just thought….”

“What?” Draco snapped. “You thought what? That I, as her pretend boyfriend, would stop Junker for her? Have you met Ginny Weasley? She doesn’t want anyone’s help! Or maybe you thought that I care about what happens to her for some reason. Well, you thought wrong. I’m not her boyfriend. It’s not my duty to protect her honor from creeps. I’m just a stand in, a placeholder, and I don’t care about her or for her! The sooner you get that through your dead head, the better off we’ll all be.”

Draco stormed out of the loo, and he wished he could say his mind felt clearer after setting definitive boundaries where Ginny Weasley was concerned. But he couldn’t. He only felt lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated Draco's pro and con list in chapter two to include "piss off Narcissa" as a pro of dating Ginny. This wasn't a theme in the original story, and I didn't have it in mind when I posted chapter two way back when, but since the story has changed, I think it makes sense to include that nugget of info earlier in the story.
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> My favorite line in this whole story (so far) makes an appearance in this chapter. I'll give ten virtual chocolate chip cookies to anyone who can guess which line is my favorite!
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> In case you missed my chapter note: I'm going to be taking the rest of August off from working on The Dating Charade to try and finish another story I've been working on for a fest I'm participating in. That story has to be complete and turned in in two weeks (!!!!!!), and I think one of the reasons this update took so long is because I've been trying to work on two stories at once. So hopefully The Dating Charade will have a new update in September, but it could be October before we see another chapter. Forgive me!!


	7. A Delicate Conversation

The wind burned Ginny’s cheeks through her scarf as she and Hermione trudged through the snow, her hair furiously whipping around her face. Despite the biting chill, Diagon Alley was overflowing with people, and everyone seemed to be in good cheer. December had arrived much like the snow had: unexpectedly though not without welcome. For Hermione and Ginny, December 1st marked the start of Christmas shopping, and everyone else in wizarding Britain seemed to have the same idea if the crowds in Diagon Alley were anything to go by. 

Laughter floated freely through the air, Christmas music rang out from the inside of the shops they passed, and colorful garlands, lights, and Christmas-spirited displays decorated each shopfront. Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Diagon Alley so festive. After the war, it had taken time for the wizarding community in London to shake off the fear and grimness of the deaths and trials. It warmed her to see children playing in the street, throwing snowballs at each other as their parents looked on in exasperation, though a moment later they shared smiles with their companions.

Ginny and Hermione grinned in amusement as they stomped snow off their shoes before entering Flourish and Blotts.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Hermione said as she unwrapped her scarf from around her neck. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t want to see me again so soon.”

Ginny laughed. “Why would you say that?”

Tucking the scarf into her handbag, Hermione lowered her head. “Because of how awkward lunch was two weeks ago. Ron thinks you’re avoiding the family, so I thought you were avoiding me, too.”

Ginny laughed again, this time more as an embarrassed response than out of humor. Her face heated in memory of her examination of the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm after lunch at the Burrow. She wasn’t sure if she was shamefaced by her fascination or embarrassed over the intimacy of the gesture. She’d tried not to think about that moment at all in the two weeks that had passed since then.

“Ron _wants_ to think I feel ashamed enough to avoid the family, but he’s wrong,” Ginny said as she followed Hermione down an aisle housing different colored inks. “I am sorry about what happened, though. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant to see the Dark Mark again. I… I’d forgotten he had it.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. In fact, part of Ginny had hoped someone in her family would dare to confront them about the Mark when she’d rolled up his sleeve and seen the Mark for herself. But after they’d arrived at the Burrow and got lost in the hustle and bustle of her family sitting down to lunch, she’d forgotten all about the Dark Mark, until that moment when Hermione had come face to face with it.

The difference between Hermione’s reaction to seeing the brand on Draco’s arm and Ginny’s reaction disconcerted Ginny more than she cared to admit. What did it mean about her that she was drawn to that kind of darkness rather than repulsed? It wasn’t the first time—no, definitely not the first time—that she’d wondered whether some essence of Tom Riddle still lingered inside her, and her interest in Draco’s Mark did nothing to relieve her of her fear.

Hermione was quiet as she examined a bottle of iridescent ink, her eyes carefully averted from Ginny. “It was certainly shocking. Seeing it again took me straight back there. To the war. To Malfoy Manor. To the battle at Hogwarts. Like no time had passed at all, as if I was there experiencing those horrors again. Has that ever happened to you?”

“Yes,” Ginny admitted, her mouth dry. “But not as much anymore. It’s been a long time.” Another reason to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She hardly thought about the war nowadays. Had she repressed the trauma? Or was she desensitized to it?

Hermione turned to Ginny and put a hand on her arm, her lips lifting in a tight grin. “But if circumstances are such that you can forget Draco even has a Dark Mark, maybe he’s not as bad as he used to be. I have to admit, I was impressed by his behavior at lunch. I hadn’t expected him to be so… mild.”

Ginny’s body relaxed, releasing the tension often caused by talk of the war. “He’s certainly full of surprises,” she said.

Hermione put the ink back on the shelf and strolled further down the aisle as she examined the wares.

Ginny couldn’t concentrate on shopping. She wished she could talk to Hermione honestly about her relationship with Draco. Part of her was bursting at the seams to tell her about the kiss the week before after drinks with Pansy and Theodore. The thought of it made her flush, both in pleasure and embarrassment. She’d thrown herself at Draco again, when they’d both been too drunk to care. She’d broken her own rule, crossed a line she’d adamantly told him they would never cross again.

The worst part was she hadn’t seen Draco since that night. Nine days had passed without sight of him. He’d even stopped delivering flowers to her desk at work. He hadn’t sent her a single note. She wished she could talk to someone besides Colin about his behavior. Was he avoiding her? Was he embarrassed about the kiss? Angry? Maybe he was just too busy with work….

“Oh, shoot!” Hermione cried, drawing Ginny’s attention back to their shopping excursion. Black-purple ink dripped from Hermione’s hands onto the floor. “The bottle’s seal has been tampered with and it leaked. Do you have a handkerchief?”

Ginny dug around inside her handbag for a threadbare cloth and offered it to Hermione.

As she cleaned her hands, Hermione pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the folds of the handkerchief, and immediately dropped it with a squeak.

“Ginny, is that….” she said, her words choked.

One look at the crumpled paper on the floor had Ginny’s face draining of all color. In the next instant, as she snatched the photo of Jason Junker’s junk from the floor, her face heated, making her feel dizzy from the rush of blood.

Damn her! She'd stuffed the photo back in her purse after that first dinner with Draco weeks ago, and then she'd forgotten all about it. She should have set the thing on fire as soon as she'd finished showing it to Draco. Alas, she hadn't been thinking, and now she wished the building would collapse on top of them to spare her from the embarrassment. “It’s—it’s not what you think!”

“I think it’s exactly what I think!” Hermione said, her own face flushed in mortification. She turned and hurried down the aisle as if trying to escape the conversation.

“No,” Ginny replied as she raced after her friend. “This isn’t even Draco!”

That stopped Hermione in her tracks. Her eyebrows arched into her hairline as her mouth opened, but Ginny sprang before a word could come out.

“It’s not what you think! Can we… can we go somewhere else?”

Flourish and Blotts certainly wasn’t the most discreet shop in which to have a lurid conversation. Their voices practically wrang out in the silence commanded by the books and parchment sitting on the shelves.

Hermione nodded and finally put down the leaky bottle of ink before they bundled back up to embrace the cold. 

The Leaky Cauldron was a much warmer—and louder—alternative to the book shop for a sensitive discussion. Ginny threw the crumpled photo into the fire that kept the pub’s hearth warm as she and Hermione sought a table in the darkest corner. A displeased expression met her gaze when they sat across from each other.

“I’m not cheating on Draco,” Ginny said. She had to be careful with her words. She couldn’t tell Hermione about the ruse. As close as she was to Harry and Ron, it wouldn’t take long for the two men to find out about the fake relationship if Ginny included her in the scheme.

Even after she’d figured out what to say, her tongue did not seem to want to cooperate, and her hands suddenly became sweaty. She’d gone to such lengths with Draco because she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about Junker’s behavior. What would Hermione think of her? She knew what people said in situations like hers. They blamed the woman for wearing inappropriate clothing, for teasing the man with a smile or conversation. The woman would be blamed for leading her harasser on, for not putting a stop to it, for not saying ‘no’ even when she most certainly had voiced dissent. Sometimes women were at fault because they _didn’t_ say yes.

Women were not believed, and Ginny didn’t want to know if her brother and her friends were the kind of people who would believe her or slut-shame her. And she didn’t want anyone to think less of her for not being able to stop Junker on her own.

Her tongue persisted with its unwillingness to form words, so Hermione prompted her. “So you’re not cheating on Malfoy, but he isn’t the one in the photo, either. Who is it?”

“It’s my supervisor.” She heard herself say the words and her cheeks flushed in humiliation. She knew exactly how that sounded. “He’s… he’s been harassing me. He sent me that photo after Draco and I began dating. I guess he thought it would entice me to accept him.”

Her throat constricted at the thought, and it took all of Ginny’s willpower not to gag. A shudder coursed through her body, and Hermione’s eyes widened even more.

“This is serious,” she said.

Ginny merely nodded.

Still collected, Hermione asked, “How long has this been going on?”

Ginny’s eyes fell closed because she didn’t want to see her friend’s expression when she admitted the truth. “I don’t even know. Several weeks now. Long before Draco and I—” She cleared her throat, wishing for that tightness to return to keep her from speaking. “I don’t even know how it began. It started out as small things. Compliments on my work, compliments on my hair. Innocent, simple, everyday niceties. And then he grew bolder. He began complimenting other parts of my body, asking me out. It reached the breaking point when he insinuated the most absurd, the most disgusting thing….”

“You need to report him!” Hermione said.

Ginny could tell by the way the table shook that her cold bark of laughter startled the other woman, but Ginny took no notice. “Who am I going to report him to? I’ve scoured the employee handbook several times. There are no procedures in place at the Ministry for someone who is sexually harassing his employees. The handbook doesn’t talk about harassment at all! There are ancient policies about which spells are acceptable to use in a duel taking place on Ministry property during business hours. There are rules for conduct inside a courtroom. There are bylaws and procedures for meetings of the Wizengamot, but there is nothing in place to protect employees from any sort of verbal or non-violent physical harassment.”

“Non-violent—Ginny. Ginny, has he touched you?” 

Finally, she opened her eyes, and she saw exactly what she feared she _wouldn’t_ see in Hermione’s: concern and anger. The relief that spread throughout her body made her feel ashamed for believing even for an instant that Hermione would be one of those people who believed Ginny deserved whatever attention Junker gave her.

“Yes, he’s touched me. I’ve hexed him for touching me before, but that’s not enough to stop him. And he’s insinuated that my job will be on the line if I continue to refuse him,” she added, unable to stop herself from feeling defensive.

“This is the most inappropriate—the most ludicrous—the most _enraging_ thing I have ever heard! This is outrageous! Someone needs to do something about this man! He is not fit for a supervisory role. He shouldn’t be able to come within ten feet of any woman! I am going to write a letter to the Minister posthaste, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be hearing from me as well!” 

Hermione continued to rant about sexism in the Ministry and any and all plans of actions she intended to take, but Ginny hardly took in a word. Her eyes stung with tears of gratitude, and her lips lifted into a small smile. She’d never imagined this kind of reaction from tight-laced Hermione. In school, Hermione Granger had been a bit tactless when trying to help others, accidentally offending people with her logic. Ginny wouldn’t have been able to handle any pointed questions about her clothes or whether she unintentionally flirted with her supervisor at any point in their career. 

And it was on the tip of her tongue to tell her about Draco, to explain that that was why she and Draco were dating. That Draco was her cover against Junker’s harassment, but for some reason, she couldn’t. The hardest part—Hermione knowing about the harassment and Ginny’s inability to stop it—was over. It would be a relief to Hermione if she knew that Ginny and Draco were only pretending to date.

But she couldn’t say anything. Part of Ginny wanted to keep the secret between herself and Draco. And Colin. And the Notts.

The Notts!

A light seemed to come on in Ginny’s head because she knew exactly who she could talk to about Draco and the ruse! Someone who knew Draco well and would be able to help Ginny decipher his behavior over the last week.... Someone who already knew they were only pretending to date….

As soon as she returned home, Ginny had a letter to write.

“Hermione,” Ginny said, interrupting her friend mid-tirade. “I’m not ready to do anything about this yet. Could you—could you keep this to yourself?”

The thinning of Hermione’s lips spoke of her disapproval without words, but, because it was Hermione, she voiced that disapproval as well. “I can’t keep something like this a secret. It’s a violation of your basic human rights! Someone has to stop him!”

“I know! I know, but… I don’t want Harry or Ron to know. I don’t want my family to know. And if we report this to someone, one of them is bound to find out. _Please_. Just for now. Until I’m ready. This isn’t your fight.”

Hermione shook her head and frowned, but the gesture was one of resignation, not dissent. “Fine,” she snapped. “I won’t tell anyone. But I can’t promise I won’t do any research into this matter. There has to be a policy _somewhere_....”

“How could I possibly keep you from your research?” Ginny said with a cheeky grin.

Hermione sniffed in answer. “And you must tell Harry and Ron about this at some point.” She glared when Ginny opened her mouth to interrupt again. “You must! This has gone on long enough. I’ll leave it to you, but you have to tell them what’s happening. Soon.”

“I’ll tell them,” Ginny agreed, irritated by her friend’s request. “In my own time.”

“Does Malfoy know about this?”

Ginny snorted at the irony of the question. “Oh, yes. He was the first person I told.”

o o o o

The last place Ginny ever expected to meet Pansy Nott was inside a Muggle pub in a tiny village in the Cotswolds. In fact, she half-expected for this meeting to be a joke. Or maybe a trap. Maybe Pansy was back at home laughing with her husband Theodore about stranding Ginny amongst Muggles, waiting for a meeting that would never happen. She’d nearly convinced herself that this was the case when Pansy walked through the door, turning heads as she passed by.

Even Ginny did a double-take when she saw her approaching her booth. She’d also never expected to see Pansy wearing Muggle clothing—or to see them suit her so well. 

Pansy took off a fitted, slate gray trenchcoat only to reveal a fitted, black dress underneath. Her malapropos attire made her stand out in the dingy pub, earning the patrons’ stares. As she sat down across from Ginny, she smirked, clearly revelling in the attention.

“I didn’t think you were going to show,” Ginny admitted.

“I considered not coming, but Theodore said that would be rude. He must like you. Usually he doesn’t care about that sort of thing. Now, what’s the emergency?”

“What? Two women can’t meet for friendly drinks out of the blue?”

Pansy leaned over the table. “We haven’t got any drinks, and I wasn’t aware we were friendly.”

“Friendly enough,” Ginny conceded. “You didn’t run me out of the pub last time we met, did you?”

“Friendly enough. I’ll not-drink to that,” Pansy agreed with a sarcastic gesture to the empty table. “So what’s this all about then?”

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but all of her questions, all of her concerns, got stuck in her throat, all clamoring to be voiced first.

Her attraction to Draco was undeniable, but was it real or was a residual darkness inside her calling to a residual darkness inside him? Every time she interacted with her family, guilt ate away at her for deceiving them. Maybe if she’d taken on this charade with someone like Neville, someone that her family and friends had no objection to, maybe she wouldn’t feel so guilty. But it was too late for that. She knew she shouldn’t have done this with Draco. She’d been hasty and desperate, but as much as she wished someone else had been standing outside that elevator three weeks ago, she couldn’t regret what was happening.

 _Why not?_ she asked herself. Why did she like the game they were playing?

Ever since she had stopped working for George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to work at the Ministry, her life had taken on a dull sort of sheen. At the shop, every day had been different, exciting, and fun, but after about a year, she’d developed an itch for something more. She’d thought the Ministry would have added something to her life that had been missing, and in a way it had—for a while. With Jason Junker’s harassment, she hadn’t paid attention to the itch’s return. And since she’d begun dating Draco, the itch had disappeared.

Lying to her friends and family was stressful, depending on Draco Malfoy was terrifying, but every day since that day in the elevator had been different, exciting, and, yes, even fun. If the charade ended, she knew her life would return to the tedium of the Ministry and the frustrations of Junker’s harassment. “Dating” Draco was a welcome distraction. 

Pansy waved her hand in front of Ginny’s face. “Hello? Earth to Weasley!”

Ginny blinked, focusing again on the woman in front of her instead of the man that constantly plagued her thoughts. And her dreams.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“You should have done that before I arrived. I’m a busy woman, you know.”

Blushing, Ginny apologized again.

“If this is some sad attempt at a date, I’m not in need of a mistress at this time. I’m happily married, and you and Draco are happily pretending to date.”

That made Ginny laugh. “Feel free to keep my application on file if you’re ever in need of a mistress in the future.”

Pansy stared at her, her eyes narrowed as if trying to figure out whether Ginny was serious or not. “Don’t hold your breath. The moment I become unhappy with Theodore is the moment I leave. My happiness means more to me than the scandal a divorce would cause.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

And Ginny meant it. The wizarding world still held onto antiquated social conventions that usually benefited men more than women, and often, the wizarding elite were even more tightly bound to those conventions as upholders of tradition. It was bad enough that marriages could still be arranged in 2001, but most people stayed in loveless or abusive marriages to avoid a scandal. It was the proper thing to do.

“Are you really happy?” Ginny asked. “Your mother arranged your marriage, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did, but I pointed her in Theodore’s direction. Which might have been a risky move on my part,” she mused to herself.

“How so?”

“I didn’t know Theodore as well as the other boys in my year. We grew up together, but at Hogwarts, he was a loner. He didn’t follow the crowd, he didn’t hang onto Draco’s every word. He kept his nose in his books, so we considered him a bit of a loser in Slytherin, actually. That’s why I asked for him. Compared to someone like Zabini or Goyle, he seemed the best option. But that decision could have backfired on me. If I’d married Zabini instead, I could have prepared myself for a life of his mistresses and indifference. I could have slept with one eye open, waiting for him to kill me for my family’s money, like his mother has allegedly done with her seven previous husbands. But I married Theodore, and I didn’t know what he would be like. I couldn’t imagine the life that awaited me. I couldn’t harden my heart to my future.

“I tried, though,” Pansy continued with a snort. “Believe me, I tried to harden my heart to him. I tried to act as indifferent to him as he’d acted towards me throughout our engagement. But he snuck up on me. I don’t know how it happened, exactly.”

She looked up into Ginny’s smiling face and seemed to suddenly realize who she was speaking to. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I should keep my mouth closed.”

“It’s sweet,” Ginny said. “I didn’t know what to make of you two at The Three Broomsticks. You acted like you didn’t like him at all, and he mostly ignored the rest of us the entire night.”

“Obviously, we’re different in private.”

“Obviously,” Ginny agreed.

“This can’t be what you wanted to meet me for.”

No, it wasn’t, but all those questions and concerns that had stopped up Ginny’s throat earlier were now silenced. The answers Ginny sought she’d have to find on her own. She and Draco had agreed nearly three weeks ago that they were in this thing together as partners. A team. What good could speaking to Pansy do? She needed to speak to Draco.

“Before we met for drinks, I overheard a conversation between Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. Narcissa is aggressively searching for someone to marry Draco, and I was just curious about arranged marriages,” Ginny said.

“Draco could never be happy with a Greengrass,” Pansy spat. “For one, Daphne’s as gay as they come, and Astoria’s too… wilty for the likes of Draco.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny disagreed, “Astoria had quite the spine when she turned Narcissa down and kicked her out her sister’s shop.” The fact that she’d confronted Ginny about her relationship with Harry, Ginny kept to herself.

“She did? She fancied Draco quite a bit back at Hogwarts.”

“Well, she seems to be over it. She’s head over heels for Harry now.”

“Potter! Of course,” Pansy sneered.

“Hey, if it wasn’t for Harry, Draco may be engaged to Astoria by now.”

“Highly doubtful. The way Draco has been acting, he would never do what his mother asks, and she hasn’t been asking for a long time. Everything is a command these days.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “He wouldn’t? Don’t they get along?” He’d spent lunch at the Burrow waxing poetic about his mother and her garden, and then he’d left Ginny’s flat to help her with an errand. Had he lied about the nature of his relationship with her?

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t know, then it’s probably none of your business. He just deserves better.” She climbed out of the booth and pulled her coat back on. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting my husband for tea.”

“Wait!” Ginny grabbed her arm and then quickly released it when Pansy’s eyebrows rose with a pointed stare. “If not Astoria Greengrass, then who? What does Draco deserve?”

“Why, he deserves to be as happy as I am, of course.” She paused in the middle of buttoning her coat. “You should tell Draco about Astoria and his mother. He should know the lengths she’s going to to ruin his life.”

“You’re happy in your arranged marriage,” Ginny said, stymied by the tenderness now apparent in Pansy’s eyes.

“That’s true.” She pulled her thick, shiny hair out of the collar of her coat and hung her handbag in the crook of her arm. “But I was lucky. I’m afraid Draco won’t have the same luck.” She stalked out of the pub, all eyes on her until the door closed behind her.

Ginny rubbed her temples, confused by the conversation she’d just had. Ten days ago Pansy had called her husband boring and Draco pathetic. Now she spoke of both men with affection and worry.

_Slytherins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite line in the whole story (so far) from chapter six was this one: "Creevey," Draco growled, his arms crossed over his chest. "Get to the point, will you? I'm standing in the ladies' bathroom talking to a ghost. I'm having war flashbacks here." :D


	8. A Determined Ghost

Colin perched on the edge of Draco’s desk as Draco aggressively ignored him. If the former Slytherin hadn’t spent the last two weeks ignoring Colin, maybe his inattention would have hurt the ghost’s feelings, but, instead, it only frustrated him. 

“I have an eternity to chase you around the Ministry, Malfoy. Don’t think I won’t do it,” Colin warned.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Draco answered.

He kept his eyes fastened to the parchment in front of him, but Colin knew it was just a ploy. He was hoping that if he looked busy enough, Colin would simply go away. Fat chance. As he’d said, Colin had a lot of time to kill. Draco—not so much.

“That’s funny. It sounded like you just said something to me.”

Draco’s lips pressing together in a firm line was the only response Colin received.

“You know what I think?” He didn’t expect Draco to answer, so he wasn’t disappointed when no answer came. “I think you’re a big, fat liar. The biggest, fattest liar I’ve ever met. Which is amazing because, you know, Gilderoy Lockhart was our Defense teacher my first year at Hogwarts.” A laugh burst from Colin’s lips, and he fell off the desk, startling Draco. “Oh—my—goodness!” he said between peals of laughter as he pulled himself up from the floor. “You’re a worse fraud than Gilderoy Lockhart!”

Clearly, Draco did not agree with the comparison. His jaw clenched so tightly, his lips peeled back off his lips in a silent snarl.

“Why am I a liar?” he asked, finally combusting from the pent-up irritation.

“Because you told me that you don’t care about Ginny, and I’ve just realized you _do_. In fact, you’re afraid of how much you care! That’s why you’re pushing her away now.”

“If you’re going to spout nonsense, you might as well leave my office now. I haven’t got time for your idiocy.”

“That’s hardly a denial!”

“I just said it was nonsense, didn’t I? That’s a denial!”

A smug grin spread across Colin’s face, and his chest puffed out. “You’re arguing semantics now, which means you have no argument, proving my case that you’re a big, fat liar.”

“ARRRRGHHH.” Draco stood up, his patience for the ghost clearly exhausted. “You’re an idiot, and I’m busy. Do I need to file a complaint with the Spirit Division to get you to leave my office?”

Now that wasn’t a bad idea! “Yeeessss,” Colin said slowly, his eyes narrowed into an expression of shrewdness. “If that will get you to talk to Ginny, then maybe you should file a complaint. I’ll take the hit if it means bringing you two together again.”

“You’re meddling, ghost, and I don’t appreciate it. Do you think Ginevra would want you involved in her relationship, fake or otherwise?”

No, of course she wouldn’t agree with Colin’s meddling, but this was for Ginny’s sake! Jason Junker would take advantage of the distance between Draco and Ginny as soon as he realized it was there. After a few short weeks of following him around, Colin was sure of that. Jason Junker did _not_ give up. He did _not_ take no for an answer. He _would_ pursue Ginny again as soon as he noticed she was without a protector.

The guilt and indecision on Colin’s face must have been too obvious. (He had never been adept at hiding his emotions, and there was something about being transparent—literally!—that made his attempts at concealment even more futile.) “No. She wouldn’t. And she doesn’t want my help, either. Ginevra is a strong woman. She can handle Junker just fine on her own.”

“That’s bullshit, Malfoy, and you know it!” Draco’s eyes widened as Colin rose up into the air, his frustration inflating his transparent body with outrage. “If you don’t want to bother yourself with other people’s concerns, that’s one thing. Lie about your motivations if you think it will keep me off your back, but don’t downplay this situation when Ginny’s safety is on the line. You can lie to me, but you need to stop lying to yourself!”

Colin didn’t wait to hear Draco’s rebuttal. He escaped through the wall, his thoughts zooming in furious circles as he floated mindlessly through the Ministry. Who else could he turn to?

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the obvious choices. They had saved Ginny once before, nearly ten years ago now. Hermione would be able to find some rule, some policy to protect Ginny, and Harry and Ron would certainly provide the physical force required to stop Junker.

But he couldn’t. Ginny really would hate him if he shared her secret with anyone who wasn’t already in the know. And there was a selfish reason he couldn’t go to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, too.

As soon as Colin had discovered his magical heritage, he’d tried to learn all he could about the world to which he newly belonged. He’d idolized Harry from the moment he’d heard stories about him on the Hogwarts Express, and his admiration grew to include Hermione and Ron when he heard of their heroics as well. Even now, even after years of friendship and mentorship, Colin still saw Harry as a hero. Naturally. He _was_ a hero. He’d defeated the most evil wizard ever to live and saved the whole damn wizarding world before his eighteenth birthday!

And because of that, Colin couldn’t reveal himself to Harry—or to Ron or Hermione. Colin never wanted to experience the shame of admitting to his friends and his idols that he had been too afraid of death to truly die. How could he ever explain such a thing _to Harry Potter_? To the boy who had sacrificed his life, the boy who had chosen death, in order to save the world?

No. Colin could never do that.

He’d have to find some other way to protect Ginny.

The downside of being dead was having no agency over, well, anything anymore. Colin felt useless. He couldn’t save anyone if he tried. The lack of matter in his body made it impossible to stop a speeding bullet or throw a punch, and he couldn’t even sneak into Jason Junker’s office and steal back the photographs of Ginny Junker hid in the center drawer of his desk. Draco had the ability to help Ginny, but not the desire, while Colin had so much desire and no ability. It was a frustrating existence.

Maybe he should have thought of that before he’d chosen this non-life. He’d only had a split-second to decide after being hit with the Killing Curse at the Battle of Hogwarts. Did he choose to go forward into the unknown, into the white light that had greeted him upon his death? Or did he go back to his body, to familiarity, to the life he was desperate to live in a world he’d had so little time to experience?

It had turned out to be a trick, in the end. He’d thought he’d made the right decision. He’d thought if he returned to his body, that he would rise up, shake off the effects of the Unforgivable, and then resume fighting for the cause. Instead, he’d trapped himself in this plane of existence. He’d tried to enter his body and delved right through it, instead. Now he was too ashamed to face his family and friends and unable to help his best friend in her time of need.

He realized now, as he floated mindlessly and dejectedly through the Department of Magical Transportation, that he and Draco were just alike. Colin, too, was running from people he cared about, hiding from them, isolating himself from the people he needed the most and the people who undoubtedly needed him as well. Dennis and their parents must have suffered these last three years without Colin. They didn’t know that he was there, that he still existed. That he was unable to hug them but he could still speak to them. He and Draco were both being selfish, and that frustrated and shamed Colin even more.

He stopped in between two cubicles—literally, one half of his body in one cubicle, the other half in another, the wall separating the cubicles splitting him in two—and threw back his shoulders. Ginny had promised to help him reunite with Dennis, but he needed to keep up his end of the bargain.

Colin floated up through the ceiling, startling a man walking back to his work station so severely, the stack of scrolls he’d been carrying cascaded to the floor in his surprise. With a sheepish apology, Colin continued up another floor where the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures resided, but instead of searching out Ginny, he headed toward the back wall, where the supervisors’ offices were located.

He poked his head through Jason Junker’s door, down at the bottom where his translucent head would be the most inconspicuous. But to his relief and consternation, Junker wasn’t home. He had an idea where the slimy git would be, though, back down on Level Six, where former Spirit Division Head, Stephanie Wilcox, now worked.

Ever since Draco and Ginny had shown they were serious about their charade (not that anyone except Colin knew it was a charade), Junker had spent an inordinate amount of time haunting his previous victim, the one he had run out of the office in the first place. In a gross twist of fate, Junker had been promoted to Stephanie’s previous role as the supervisor for the Spirit Division. It irritated Colin that he had been rewarded in such a way, though, surely no one would have given him such a promotion if they had known about his inappropriate behavior. Right?

Colin knew he needed to keep an eye on the way Junker interacted with Stephanie. That had been the deal he’d struck up with Ginny, to let her know when Junker began pestering someone else. But he had one more stop to make before he returned to Magical Transportation for the second time that day.

Luckily, Ginny was exactly where she was supposed to be, hunched over her desk with a quill in hand, her brow creased in concentration.

“Boo,” Colin said, making Ginny jump.

“Ha ha,” she replied in a dry tone as she righted the jar of ink she knocked over. “Very funny.”

“I wasn’t even trying that time! S’not my fault you’re jumpy.”

She returned her attention to the parchment in front of her and didn’t answer, but her eyes remained fixed on one spot and the hand holding her quill didn’t move. Just as distracted as Draco had been in his office only minutes before. 

“Have you and Draco had a row?”

Well, _that_ got her attention. She inserted her quill in an inkwell and sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“No.”

Clearly from the tortured look on her face, she wanted to say more. Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes averted in indecision.

“Should we go to the conference room for privacy?”

“No,” she said with a wave of her hand and another sigh. She picked up her wand and swished it through the air wordlessly, and an incessant, buzzing hum covered the soft chatter and the scratching of quills on parchment that permeated throughout the office. “I think Draco’s avoiding me.”

“I noticed. Any idea why he would do that?”

A blush warmed her cheeks with color, which Colin found intriguing. “We sort of got drunk that night we went out with his friends… and kissed.”

“Oh,” he said, finally sitting down in the chair across from her desk. “Is that all?”

“Is that all?” she repeated, her eyes widening in alarm. “Is that _all_?”

“Well, I just thought something more serious had happened.”

“That is serious, Colin.”

“Why? You like each other, don’t you? You spend a good bit of time together. You’re pretending to be in a relationship, and while I’ve never been in a relationship, I would imagine pretending to be in one might inspire certain feelings. Like celebrities that play couples in movies!”

“Who says we like each other?”

Colin tilted his head to the side, his expression patient as he rolled his eyes at her silly question.

Ginny stared back at him for several moments, and she seemed to be holding her breath until she couldn’t take it anymore and exploded. “I dream about him sometimes; that doesn’t mean I like him! And, yes, it was a nice kiss—a very nice kiss—a better than nice kiss—but that doesn’t mean I like him. At all. You can kiss people you don’t like, Colin. You can!”

“Fine!” he said, his hands rising in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve convinced me you don’t like him, okay?”

Of course she hadn’t. She’d only confirmed what he already knew to be true, that she, like Draco, was in denial about her feelings. Now that he’d learned what had happened between them, he completely understood why Draco was avoiding her. He _was_ afraid of how much he cared, just as Ginny was too afraid to admit she cared at all. To him anyway. Maybe she was trying to convince herself that she didn’t like Draco by convincing Colin first. Well, it hadn’t worked! He saw right through her.

“Anyway, he’s the one avoiding me,” she added, more calm than she’d been just a moment ago. “He’s starting to worry me.”

If Colin had a working heart, it would have pounded harder just then. “If I noticed Draco was avoiding you, Junker is bound to as well. Has he, er, been hitting on you?”

“No, not yet. But it’s just a matter of time.”

“It’s okay,” Colin said as he rose from the chair. “I’ll see what I can do to bring Draco back on board.”

He tried to ignore her grimace, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit rejected by it. Didn’t she have faith in him? He just wanted to help. He couldn’t throw punches. He couldn’t tear up photographs. The only weapon at his disposal was speech, and he knew if he wore Draco down enough he could convince him of his feelings and bring Draco and Ginny back together.

“Please, it’s all right. I’ve already decided to talk to him. You just worry about Junker.”

“Right-o,” he replied with a salute. “Speaking of Junker, I’ve got to go find him now. He wasn’t in his office earlier.” He turned away, desperate to leave her cubicle before she saw his disappointment, but before he could make himself scarce, she called his name.

“Colin?”

He spun back around, a saccharine grin plastered across his face.

Her lips were turned up in an exhausted smile. Too many sleepless nights? Too much time spent worrying about Junker? Worrying whether or not Draco had backed out of the ruse?

“Thank you for all your help and for being such a good friend. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

His own smile widened, more sincere now, more relieved. Maybe she did have faith in him. Maybe convincing Draco was just something she needed to do for herself. Colin had his own task to complete, and she believed he could accomplish it.

He ducked his head in embarrassment and replied, “I love you like my own sister, Ginny. I’d do anything to help.”

o o o o

A couple hours after Colin’s departure, a paper airplane sailed over Ginny’s cubicle wall and poked her in the head before falling flat on the ground. She startled out of her stupor, looking around her cube for what had attacked her until her eye caught the lavender paper at her feet. She picked it up and smoothed out its folds on top of her desk, her curiosity buried under a deep blanket of fatigue.

Her dreams had been out of control lately. Luckily, Draco didn’t star in her dreams every night—Merlin, she would have been a wreck if he did—but the nights she did dream of him left her reeling and unable to shake the feelings her dreams provoked in her long after waking.

Sometimes (and her face flushed just to think of it) her dreams were steamy and hot, featuring Draco’s lips and his tongue as his mouth glided down her body and her hands raked his skin. Her mind seemed incapable of fathoming such a scenario because she always woke up before, well, _before_. Before fire could sear through her veins and fireworks could flash behind her eyelids. She woke up unsatiated until she finished her dream manually and alone in her cold bed, frustrated with herself and her own sexual frustration.

Sometimes her dreams were far more innocent, but far, far more devastating. She dreamed of sitting at a table across from a faceless man that she always knew instinctively was Draco. Talking. Laughing. Blushing when sweet, flirtatious words were shared. She dreamed of their fingers intertwined as they walked in a park, her pulse pounding in her palm where their skin touched. She dreamed of gray eyes crinkled at their corners from smiling, and a flash of teeth as he laughed. She dreamed of his arms wrapped around her, warm and solid as she pressed her nose into his chest and inhaled his cologne, a scent she’d caught when she’d rolled up his sleeves for him before meeting her family for lunch two and a half weeks ago. A scent she would recognize outside of her dreams as soon as she smelled it.

These dreams were worse than the sexy ones because when she woke up, it wasn’t her body that was longing for Draco, it was her heart. But she knew it wasn’t personal. She knew Draco could have been replaced with anyone and she would have woken up feeling the same way. Her dreams only featured Draco because she spent her waking hours thinking of him.

She wasn’t _in love_ with him. She snorted at the thought and stifled further laughter. She just… lacked intimacy. She didn’t want to be with Harry anymore, but she missed their moments waking up together, talking about their days to each other, and simple, innocent physical contact. A quick kiss on the lips. A gentle palm on her lower back. Hand holding.

She woke up aching for such affection and frustrated that Draco was the one who gave it to her in her dreams, especially now that he’d been avoiding her for nearly two weeks. She’d spent the last several days in a haze of confusion, unable to stop thinking about her dreams—unable to stop thinking about Draco in them.

But when she opened up the paper airplane and read its contents, her exhaustion quickly turned into alarm. She tried to stifle it before panic set in as she stood up from her desk and made her way to the back of the office, stopping in the open doorway of Jason Junker’s personal office.

“You summoned?” she asked, hoping the panic hadn’t seeped into her voice, hoping she could keep it at bay long enough to get through this meeting without alerting Junker to her dread.

Junker’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please, Ginny, why don’t you close the door behind you?”

She did, and she tried to lock her dismay out of the office, but it trickled in through the cracks and attached to her limbs like shackles.

When had she become so afraid of this man?

He smiled at her, but she couldn’t help but see the sleaze behind it, whether or not it was truly there. She noticed, perhaps for the first time, that his dark hair was graying at the edges, aging him from his mid-thirties to a quick forty, easy. He looked like a Division Head should, though Ginny wondered what exactly a Division Head _should_ look like and how she came to the conclusion he looked like one. Perhaps the only criteria that had qualified him for the position had been his white maleness. His gray sideburns also gave him a veneer of maturity that Ginny knew he didn’t possess, a maturity that seemed to suit the job title. She shook her head. She’d always wondered why Junker had replaced Stephanie over someone like Rose Bloomgarden, who had worked in the Spirit Division for many years longer than Junker had and was certainly more qualified.

“Take a seat,” Junker said with another sleazy grin.

She perched on the edge of the chair situated in front of his desk, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded in her lap.

“There’s a conference next week in Paris for professionals in the Magical Creatures field all across Europe, and Scamander has asked that the Spirit Division be represented this year. Rose was slated to go, but she’s had a family emergency, and now she won’t be able to go after all.”

“Oh?” Ginny remembered Rose talking about the conference months ago, but she hadn’t paid much attention back then. Ginny always ignored Rose’s gossip and bragging.

“Yes. I need someone else to go in her place. See, her registration fee, hotel room, and train ticket have already been paid for, so it would be a shame for the department to lose that money just because she wasn’t able to go.”

Silence stretched between them, and Ginny waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she opened her mouth. “Are you asking me to take her place?”

“I am,” Junker said, leaning back in his seat, his irksome smile pulling the corners of his lips even wider.

“I thought we cycled through employees with the most seniority in these cases,” Ginny said, her earlier dread allayed for the moment as confusion set in instead. “If Rose can’t go, that means Pam or Delphinia or Hester are next in line.”

Junker sighed as if this very situation was a great problem to him. “I’ve asked Pam and Delphinia and Hester already. They can’t go on such short notice. As you know, Pam is moments away from giving birth, and Portkey travel is particularly dangerous at this stage in her pregnancy. Delphinia has her own brood that need looking after, and Hester’s practically crippled with that bad back of hers. That leaves you as my last resort.”

Ginny bristled, not at being Junker’s last resort. She certainly didn’t care about that. But at the words he’d used to describe his employees. There had been derision in his voice when he spoke about Pam’s pregnancy, and the way he called Delphinia’s children her _brood_ as though she and her family were animals. And Hester was an older lady with a bad back, yes, but her stooped figure hardly crippled her. For several years, she’d been a member of a Muggle fitness center, where she used their indoor swimming pool to swim laps in the morning before work.

“When is the conference again?” Ginny asked, barely concealing the dislike on her face or in her voice.

He pulled a pamphlet out of a drawer and slid it across the desk to her. “The conference is Sunday through Wednesday, but you wouldn’t have to stay until Wednesday, unless you want to. Most of the relevant presentations will be on Monday and Tuesday.”

Junker’s request sounded more and more appealing the longer she considered it. She didn’t even have to look through the pamphlet before making her decision. Nothing sounded better at the moment than being in a different country than Junker. The fact that the Ministry would pay her expenses was just the icing on the coconut cake.

“I’ll go,” she said.

Junker’s eyes brightened. “You will? Oh, that’s wonderful! You’ll seriously be helping me out. I can’t thank you enough for volunteering.” He pulled another piece of parchment out of his desk drawer. “Here, just sign this so we can change the name on the hotel room from Rose’s to yours, and this one so they can change the conference registration when you check in.”

Ginny skimmed through both documents before signing them, and as she laid the quill down on the desk, her heart felt a thousand pounds lighter. The fear that had gripped her earlier had slipped back under the cracks of the door, making it easier for her to breathe. She even smiled at Junker as she returned the documents to him.

“Excellent. I’ll pick you up at your place of residence at two o’clock on Sunday.”

As swiftly as the burden had been lifted, the weight crashed down on her and the dread wrapped around her once more.

“Excuse me?”

Junker smiled, showing teeth that flashed like a predator charming its prey.

“We’ll be going to the conference together! Lark Scamander himself approved for two of us to go.”

All that effort Ginny had exerted to try to hide her fear from Junker deserted her as she stared at him with a horrified comprehension. He’d tricked her. The bastard had tricked her into leaving the country with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh my goodness, you guys. I cannot math. I have written down an unofficial-official timeline of this story so far to try and figure out which events/chapters happened when (I only skimmed through the story to make this timeline. I think I’m going to have to reread it and jot down every detail in order to make an _official_ timeline, and I just didn’t have time at this moment to do that, so it’s an _unofficial_ -official timeline. ;P). In the process of doing that, I discovered a minor discrepancy that shouldn’t affect your reading of the story so far, so no worries. In chapter five, when Colin asks Ginny to accompany him when he reunites with Dennis, he says Dennis should be in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He’s not. Dennis is a seventh year now. I’ve edited the chapter to reflect that change.
> 
> 2\. This will be my last update on TDC for the year, and there probably won’t be another update until February. I’ve got to finish writing an exchange fic and a Christmas story before January and I’m going to England at the beginning of the year!! So I’m going to try to get those other stories done in the meantime, and I’ll work on TDC again when I come back from Europe. BUT, I can tell you that in chapter nine, we will see Draco and Ginny interacting again, and Astoria will be returning! :)


	9. A Pathetic Sandwich

When Draco snapped his quill in half due to his relentless grip, he pushed his chair back and sighed. 

He didn’t know why he was angry or who he was even angry with the most. His mother, Ginevra, and himself topped the list of people he currently held a grudge against. Picking a single person at whom to aim his frustration was an impossible task.

Peripherally, Pansy was also near the top of his list, but only because his mother wouldn’t stop talking about her, harping on about how Draco had wasted a perfect opportunity. His only opportunity. She thought he was a lost cause, a pariah that no one—not even his own social caste—would ever choose to marry. As if that hurt his feelings.

Well, it did. But only _a little_ , all right? He wasn’t the sort of idiot who pined for love or begged for it. He _deserved_ to be loved, just like he had deserved his wealth and his position in society. Just like he’d thought he’d deserved his classmates’ admiration when he was growing up. His mother and father had loved each other. Still did as far as Draco knew. And he deserved the kind of love they shared.

He hoped, though, that whoever he fell in love with would be a little more level-headed than his father. Less of an extremist who followed crowds and more of an independent thinker. Someone who would slap some sense into him if he ever got any bright ideas about joining secret hate groups.

Not that Draco necessarily _disagreed_ with Death Eater ideology. At least, he didn’t think so. After the war, he hadn’t spent much time reconsidering his stance on Muggles and their ilk—in fact, he’d tried not to think about it as much as possible. He did, however, recognize that some opinions were not popular and should not be voiced. They definitely should not be flown proudly on a banner for any and all to see. Or shot up into the sky as a grisly, green logo.

No, Draco was tired of extreme. He didn’t want to call any political attention to himself. He just wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to get over what had happened to him during the war and maybe get a hobby. He could take up coin collecting or Gobstones tournaments or fencing. Just something to occupy him and keep him out of trouble.

And it would be nice to spend the rest of his life with someone else, to keep his thoughts occupied, to have conversations with, to keep his bed warm.

That was why Ginevra was on his list. She had turned out to be a great distraction, and an astoundingly lovely one at that. But she wouldn’t do. No. She was an unacceptable candidate for life partner, and an atrocious person to fall in love with.

Ginevra Weasley was the opposite of level-headed. If Draco flipped through a dictionary to the word extreme, its definition would consist only of her picture.

When she got angry at people, she drew her wand and threatened to hex them. She’d just done that to Draco not long ago! Never mind that Draco had diffused the situation before she could ruin his chiseled features with boils and whatnot. The point still stood that she was a firecracker, one of her twin brothers’ Whizbangs, even. She only required a tiny spark to light her fuse, and then? KABOOM.

Never mind that she hid a darkness deep inside her that no one would know was there unless she revealed it. Never mind that she had overcome that darkness to become someone _decent_. ( _Note to self,_ Draco thought, _ask Ginevra about her darkness._ She had never explained that to him properly. Something about possession? Evil sixteen-year-olds? What?)

Never mind that she kissed like the world was ending. Never mind that his hands still burned with the memory of her curves as he’d held her tight to him and allowed the world to end.

In other words, never mind that she didn’t only experience extreme anger: she also felt extreme passion and extreme pain. She was too much, but in a way, Draco hadn’t had enough.

Draco had been an emotional twat as a child, flying off the handle at every little slight. What he’d experienced during the war hadn’t changed him, but it had changed his outlook on life. He worked harder than anyone realized to maintain a certain composure, even in the face of his strongest emotions.

And these past few weeks, being with Ginevra Weasley, he realized how weak he was. Because when she was near him, he couldn’t always control his anger. He couldn’t always hide his fear and concern. If there was one thing Draco loathed, it was not being in control, and she wrested his control away from him with one glowing smile.

That was why he was angry with Ginevra. And that was why he was angry with himself: for letting her get under his skin like she did. He didn’t want to admit that this ruse had gone too far when physically all they had accomplished were a couple unplanned kisses. He shouldn’t have cared about her feelings in this. He should have taken what he wanted from her. He should have charmed and seduced her; he should have gotten her out of his system so he could move on with his life and continue his petty drama with his mother.

But that would have made him a slimeball like Jason Junker, and that thought made Draco sick. Draco had to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have machismo, that he wasn’t a brutish lug who would procure a woman’s dubious consent, if any consent at all, just to drop her like a bad Sickle afterward. Pansy liked to call him pathetic, but it wasn’t until Ginevra Weasley actually made him feel pathetic that he’d cared about the label.

At the root of it all, he mused over his broken quill, he supposed he didn’t want Ginevra to think he was inadequate. He… actually wanted her to like him. Of her own free will, and not because she had to tolerate him to continue the ruse and protect herself. The idea was so strange, Draco chose to sabotage himself instead of trying to earn her esteem.

What if he became sincere in the charade and she laughed at him? Draco cringed at the possibility as he pulled a new quill out of his desk drawer. He dipped the nib into his inkwell, and then his hand paused over the contract he’d been drafting.

Creevey’s words from yesterday creeped back into his mind. The ones about how Draco needed to stop lying to himself.

He snorted as he signed his name to the bottom of the contract, which caused the parchment to float up into the air and roll itself into a scroll before disappearing with a faint _pop!_

Draco wasn’t lying to himself. He knew how he felt, he just refused to acknowledge it. And he hoped if he pretended hard enough, his feelings would change.

He sighed again. Not bloody likely.

His eyes glanced over the next contract in his stack, but instead of the standard language of a Floo application acceptance letter, he saw the word ‘pathetic’ repeated over and over and over again, filling the parchment with a reminder of Draco’s inadequacy.

o o o o

Draco should have known better than to venture out of his office for lunch for the first time in days. The Ministry cafeteria was normally quite deserted due to the fact that the “cafeteria” consisted of little more than a cold sandwich stand and some picnic tables that had been thrown into an unused office on Level Three after someone had complained about the lack of edibles in the building. The solution from administration had been disappointing at best. Most people preferred to go above ground to the cafe next door instead, where the meals were hot and cheap, which meant the caf was never busy and hardly ever used.

“Two Galleons for a bit of chicken and tomato between two stale slices of bread is mad,” Draco muttered as he handed over the necessary coins to the cashier.

“I think you can afford it,” the cashier said in a dry tone.

Annoyed by his sarcastic reply, Draco eyed the man’s nametag. “No one asked for your commentary, Steve. And, no, thank you, I will not be needing a bag today.”

Displeased with his sad lunch as well as himself for his poor life choices, he took his sandwich to one of the picnic tables as far away from the door as possible. He was even more displeased when Ginevra entered the room and joined him at the table a few minutes later.

“How did you even find me?” Draco asked, because the fact that she’d bothered to check the caf meant she must have scoured the entire Ministry for him.

“It’s a secret,” she said, her lips quirking upwards.

“You had Creevey tail me, didn’t you?”

Her smile fell. “How I found you isn’t important. We have to talk.”

“About what?”

“Honestly, Draco, this isn’t even a real relationship and you’re a terrible boyfriend. I can’t imagine what your past girlfriends had to go through.”

Draco took a delicate bite of his sandwich instead of replying. He’d never had a girlfriend before, so he had no experience to which he could compare this charade. Before the war, Draco had adored being admired by his male and female classmates alike, but reciprocating that admiration and embarking into a relationship with anyone had not interested him in the slightest. During the war, dating had been the last thing on his mind, what with his parents’ deaths hanging over his head as blackmail to encourage him to kill the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared and all. And after the war, if you could believe it, Draco had not been very popular with anyone. Add his mother trying to rope him into a marriage to secure his position in society and preserve the Malfoy line, and he had actively avoided relationships as much as possible.

Ginevra Weasley was Draco’s first girlfriend—fake or otherwise. See? Pathetic.

“You’d have to ask them,” he finally said after swallowing the less than satisfactory bite. The tomatoes had gone mushy and the bread (stale, just as he’d predicted) was soggy from the tomato. The chicken lacked flavor and moisture.

“I would if I knew who they were,” she replied, still intent on this thread of conversation for some reason. “Maybe they could help me figure you out.”

“No one can figure me out. I’m an enigma.”

She snorted, a grin lifting the corners of her lips. “You’re something.”

Draco frowned, wondering what she meant by that statement. The fact that he was analyzing a two-word sentence drove him bonkers and reaffirmed the exact reason he had no interest in relationships. Why would anyone put themselves through this torture? Why would anyone willingly form a partnership with another person just to doubt their own self-worth for the entire length of their relationship? It made no sense.

He supposed sex had something to do with it. Draco had never experienced that, either, but if sex with another person was better than what he enjoyed with his hand, maybe he could see the appeal.

Ginevra was frowning now, her eyes lowered to the tabletop until she took a deep breath and met his gaze.

“Are you still in this ruse with me? I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit absent lately.”

“I’ve been busy.” Ah, yes. The default response he used frequently as an excuse with his mother.

“I know my problems aren’t your responsibility. I _know_ that. I just thought we had an understanding. We seemed to be having fun.”

If torturing himself by spending time with a woman he wouldn’t let himself fall in love with and couldn’t have sex with sounded like fun, then, yes, Draco was having the time of his life! Throw in the fact that Draco was pathetic and unworthy of her, and they might as well be having a non-stop party!

“So much fun,” he repeated without enthusiasm.

Her eyes narrowed. “So needling Ron at lunch at the Burrow and hearing him get shut down by my dad—that wasn’t fun for you?”

He couldn’t help it when his lips twitched.

“Or maybe it’s not about fun. Maybe you don’t want to be seen with me.”

“What?” Draco shook his head, lost at the sudden twist of her logic.

Her eyes lowered again, but the crease in her brow suggested anger, not pain. Her hand sat on top of the picnic table, clenched into a fist. “You haven’t acknowledged me since the night we spent at the pub with Pansy and Theodore. The only conclusion I can come to is that I embarrassed you in front of your friends. Maybe you no longer want to be associated with me, even if we’re just pretending.”

A denial was on the edge of Draco’s lips because of course she didn’t embarrass him. He’d been amazed at how well the night had gone considering Pansy’s caustic honesty and high standards. But if he denied her ridiculous idea, he would have to come up with some other explanation for his distance. He couldn’t very well tell her, _I want you, but I don’t know in what way, and instead of hurting you by pursuing you like your sleazy supervisor or embarrassing myself by enduring your rejection, I’d rather just stay away from you._

It was a mouthful, but Draco hadn’t had time to come up with a better speech, okay?

He couldn’t say that to her. But if he indicated he no longer wanted to associate with her, he would put her at risk. She’d be vulnerable once again to Jason Junker’s affections—if that's what Draco could call Junker's behavior. If Draco continued the charade, the worst fate he could possibly suffer would be her derisive laughter. If he called off their sham of a relationship, the worst fate Ginevra could suffer would be Junker’s undivided attention.

What Creevey had said to him the day after their pub crawl floated to the surface of Draco’s memory. Junker was persistent, and he hadn’t given up on Ginevra. Draco had been correct when he’d said that Ginevra Weasley didn’t want his help, but she had asked for it, and he’d agreed to help her.

What she truly needed was an ally, a partner, not a white knight. And when he thought of it that way, the burden of helping her no longer seemed like such a burden. Allies supported each other. Partners divided distasteful tasks. As a team, they would help each other through this charade.

They’d talked about this already weeks ago, early in the ruse, when Ginevra had railed against him for suggesting he had swooped in as her savior. It wasn’t weakness to need support. In fact, being able to ask for help and rely on someone else suggested a simple kind of strength. Draco had forgotten what it meant for them to be a team.

“I see,” Ginevra said, her voice chilly. She placed both hands flat on the tabletop to push herself up and leave.

He realized he’d been lost in thought for too long, and he reached forward, his hand covering one of hers, making her pause.

Her eyes darted to his.

“You don’t embarrass me, Ginny.” He steeled himself, controlling the anger that burned him whenever he was placed in a vulnerable situation. “I’m afraid as we continue this relationship, I would only embarrass you.”

A tense silence met his statement, and then she lowered herself back down onto the bench. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m quite pathetic, you see—”

“Everyone needs to stop saying that!”

He looked up at her in surprise just to catch her rolling her eyes.

“Don’t let Pansy’s words get to you. She’s wrong, and if she’s as a good a friend to you as you say she is, she should never say it again.”

“It’s only the tru—”

 _“No.”_ Her arm came down in a slicing motion that silenced Draco, and then her voice softened. “No, it’s not true. A pathetic person wouldn’t agree to help someone they don’t like.”

But she didn’t know his reasons! She’d never seen his pro and con list! He had been purely selfish in agreeing to their charade.

“A pathetic person wouldn’t walk into the Burrow with his head held high even though he knew he would likely be eaten alive. And he wouldn’t walk back out again the bigger man with more dignity, either.”

Draco gulped. Again, he’d done it just to see her family squirm. It wasn’t _his_ fault her father had felt the need to berate his son in Draco’s defense!

She leaned a little closer over the table. “A pathetic man wouldn’t stick to his convictions, even when his mother was the one asking him to break them.”

Draco’s expression fell into a scowl. “Excuse me?”

Now she looked uncertain, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop….”

“Eavesdrop on what?” he asked, heat burning through his veins, foreboding eclipsing his instant fury.

She had the grace to appear shamefaced. “I wanted to take a look at Daphne Greengrass’s boutique, and while I was in there, your mother came in and tried to bully Astoria into marrying you. I… er… ascertained that she’s been at it for a while and that you were at odds with her because of her inquiries.”

“You know I lied about my relationship with my mother,” he said after several moments.

She merely nodded.

“And you still don’t think I’m pathetic.”

She shook her head.

“Why?”

“Well,” she began, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve been told from several reliable sources that Professor Dumbledore once said—and this is paraphrased, mind, I wasn’t at this particular leaving feast, you know—that it takes more bravery to stand up to your friends than it does your enemies. How much bravery must a person have in order to stand up to his family?”

Draco sneered, but the heat had gone out of his body, and an involuntary teasing tone entered his voice. “I’m not some bloody Gryffindor.”

She reached out to pat his hand in reassurance, a full-fledged grin warming her face. “It’s okay, Draco. The first stage of grief is denial.”

o o o o

When Draco returned to his office, stomach grumbling thanks to his unsatisfying lunch, Astoria Greengrass awaited him, hovering impatiently over his desk.

Draco scowled at the intrusion, but Astoria didn’t show any sign of embarrassment about being caught rifling through his work.

“There you are,” she said imperiously. “Where have you been?”

“At lunch. Some people require three meals a day in order to survive.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could _survive_ on less.”

“Fine.” He sat down in his chair. “Some people require sustenance to maintain peak performance.”

“Much better.”

“What are you doing here, Astoria?”

“I was looking for Ginny, but she must have been at lunch as well, so I figured I’d come find you. I should have known you’d go to lunch together.”

Draco wanted to point out that her conclusion didn’t logically follow her observations, but he refrained. She would have ignored him anyway. Instead, he said, “It shouldn’t be surprising for a couple to take their lunch breaks at the same time. Doesn’t Potter treat you to lunch once in a while?”

Astoria sniffed as if offended by his question. “Of course. But Harry and I are perfect for each other. You and Weasley on the other hand….”

Draco bristled, his whole body tensing at the insinuation. She was right, of course. Draco and Ginevra had no good reason to be together. They didn’t make any sense at all, but it still angered him to hear someone else admit as such.

“What do you want, Astoria?” he asked, steel in his voice now.

“I’m having a swimming party tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like you to come. You and Ginny.”

“Why would we do that?”

Astoria sniffed again and circled his desk, her gaze dropping as she ran her fingers through various rolls of parchment with pointed interest.

“Ginny and I had a bit of a tiff a while back, and Harry insists on us becoming great friends. I’m trying to make amends.”

He remembered what Ginevra had told him only half an hour ago about eavesdropping on a conversation between Astoria and his mother in Daphne’s shop, but she hadn’t mentioned anything about an argument with the younger Greengrass sister. The omission from their conversation only made him curious about the subject of the argument, but instead of revealing his ignorance, he focused on the invitation instead.

“Why would I want to spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon with Potter?”

“Because he and your girlfriend are friends and plan to remain that way,” she replied, the bitterness evident in her voice. Her expression changed to a mix between beseeching and annoyed. “Doesn’t it bother you that they’re still so close?”

He had to think about it for a moment. At the very beginning of their ruse, Draco had considered the possibility that Potter might want Ginevra back, and he’d relished dangling her from his arm in front of him. But that lunch at the Weasley household had changed Draco’s opinion. He had only seen the two interact platonically, and even then, after Potter and Ginevra had had their private talk, they had hardly interacted at all. Everything he’d overheard and witnessed that afternoon suggested the two of them were well and truly over each other, and Potter was head over heels for Astoria.

No, it didn’t really bother him that Potter and Ginevra were still friends. Potter just bothered him _in general_. There was a difference.

“No,” he finally answered, and Astoria’s eyebrows rose into her hairline for one shocked moment.

“Really?”

“Really. I have no desire to come between her and her friends.” That wasn’t entirely true. A rift, especially one caused by Draco, between Ginevra and those closest to her would have been the height of entertainment to him, but Astoria needn’t know that. “Now, can you leave me alone so I can get back to work?”

“What about my party?” Her lower lip poked out in a petulant pout.

“You’ll need to speak to Ginevra about that.” He pulled one of the contracts he had been working on before lunch towards him, untying and unrolling the scroll to flatten it out against the tabletop. “Leave.”

She stomped out of the room, but as soon as she left, shutting the door behind her much harder than necessary, a ghostly head shoved itself through the wall.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Creevey said, and Draco groaned, loudly and in as overdramatic a fashion as he could manage.

“What do _you_ want?” he asked, not even turning his torso to face the new intrusion.

That hardly mattered because Creevey invited himself in and perched delicately on the edge of Draco’s desk.

“I thought you had coworkers. They’re never here,” he said in a musing tone, ignoring the question at hand.

“They’re always out fixing Floos and installing new additions to the Network. Better people stay behind and do the paperwork. _What do you want?_ ”

“Nothing,” Creevey replied loftily. “I just wanted to commend you for doing the right thing.”

“Are you spying on me?” 

“No, not exactly.” The ghost looked sheepish, which didn’t lend any credence to his reply. “Maybe a little. I’m just keeping an eye on anyone who might hurt Ginny. Congratulations! You’ve been taken off my ‘Potentially Might Hurt Ginny’ list. Huzzah!”

“If you don’t leave my office right now, I am going to file a complaint with the Spirit Division. Huzzah that!”

The ghost flew out of the room, childish laughter echoing behind him in his wake.

Draco released the tight grip on his quill and sprawled in his chair, all of the energy melting out of him through his feet and onto the floor into a puddle of energy that he could no longer access. His life had been peaceful before he’d become involved with Ginevra Weasley. Well, when not dodging his mother’s commands to find a bride, it had been peaceful enough.

But… somehow, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I post updates on my writing progress (especially where TDC is concerned) on my Tumblr: the-real-idreamofdraco.tumblr.com. I know it takes me a couple months to post new chapters, and that can be frustrating/sad for some people, but just know I'm not completely slacking off, okay? Feel free to follow my blog for writing updates!
> 
> 2\. I also have to apologize. Usually, I write a story from start to finish before I start posting it online. Otherwise, I might lose momentum and accidentally abandon a story (looking at you, Camping in the Forest of Dean, Not Enough, and Memories: a Story Told in Drabbles....). The Dating Charade is not complete; I'm writing it as I go, but I have NO intention of abandoning this story.
> 
> What I'm apologizing for is making edits to previous chapters as I write new ones. This is a work in progress, so sometimes I change tiny details to fit the vision I have for the story. I'm hoping there aren't any inconsistencies, because I do try to make an effort to rewrite things as I change them. For instance, in chapter four, Draco's narration insinuated that Pansy fancied him throughout their childhood and young-adulthood until she realized they were better off as friends. I changed this because of the Pansy/Theodore story I'm writing. Instead, when she was fifteen, she told Draco that she fancied him, and he turned her down. Their friendship re-spawned after a few months of tension. You can reread the last section of chapter four to see this change.
> 
> Also, in chapter eight, Jason Junker said that Ginny would be traveling by Portkey to France for the conference. After reading an article on Pottermore, I've changed this detail. They'll now be traveling by train. :D
> 
> Anyway, I try to notify you guys every time I make a change because I don't want there to be any confusion or inconsistencies. But all the same, I'm sorry for constantly editing as I go. I'm sure it can be disorienting.
> 
> 3\. Thank you so much for your patience! Next chapter... a swimming pool party at the Greengrass estate!


	10. A Pool Party (Part One)

Ginny’s heart thundered in her chest as she waited for Draco to pick her up, anxiety chewing away at her nerves, frazzling her beyond what could be considered healthy. Part of her hoped her heart would just stop. Stop beating against her ribcage. Stop making that infernal sound that pounded in her skull. Just… stop. 

Tomorrow she was going to France with Junker, and instead of staying in today to mentally prepare herself for the ordeal—preferably in the comfort of her bed and a hot water bottle—she’d agreed to go to Astoria’s pool party. Why did she ever agree? She should have turned down both Junker and Astoria.

The excitement she might have felt at the idea of going to another country, experiencing a new culture and eating foreign delicacies, was eclipsed by her total fear, turning a welcome opportunity into three nights of torture.

She should have told Draco about the conference yesterday when she’d had the chance, but she’d been surprised by his own insecurities, mostly surprised that he had revealed them to her. The thought of Pansy, supposedly one of Draco’s best mates, hurting him with her words to such an extent sent a wave of anger through her that made her forget her anxiety for a moment. Pansy might not have intended to hurt Draco—who really knew what she intended, though?—but the fact remained that he had heard her call him pathetic so often he had begun to believe it.

Ginny knew what it was like to confide in someone, to trust someone so implicitly with every childish wish and secret, only for that person to use her words against her and make her feel small, insignificant, unwanted. Tom Riddle had been her best friend and closest confidante for months, and he’d learned everything he’d needed to know to be able to not only twist Ginny to do his bidding, but also to make her hate herself and distrust her family to the point of not being able to confide in anyone else.

Even if she’d hated Draco (and she knew that she didn’t hate him—far from it, in fact), she never would have wished such a toxic relationship on him.

Faced with Draco’s thoughts of his own inadequacy, Ginny hadn’t found the right moment to tell him about Junker and the conference, and now here she sat, her knees clutched to her chest as she waited on her lumpy sofa for Draco to arrive.

She took several deep breaths to try to slow down her heart and her mind. _Breathe in, one, two, three… and breathe out, one, two, three._ Repeat.

Her efforts were thwarted when a knock erupted at her door, making her lose the traces of serenity she had achieved. She stood up, stiffened her spine, and took one more deep breath before going to the door to let Draco in.

He took one look at her forced smile and poorly hidden panic-stricken eyes and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Why would you think something’s wrong?” A nervous giggle escaped her lips.

He closed the door behind him, and then placed his hands on her arms and guided her down the hall back to the living room.

“Sit.”

“Shouldn’t we be going? I can just hear Astoria pitching a fit—”

_“Sit.”_

She sank down onto the sofa again and glared as Draco crossed his arms and stood over her. “You can’t intimidate me, Draco Malfoy.”

“Something’s wrong,” he said, ignoring her statement. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.”

“What do you know about panic attacks?”

“Plenty.”

The confession surprised her enough to make her lower her defenses. “I suppose you do,” she said in reconciliation, her eyes dropping in embarrassment.

Of course Draco was well-acquainted with panic attacks. How could she have forgotten? Harry had witnessed one of them when he’d stumbled upon Draco crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom at Hogwarts during their sixth year, the year that Draco had been tasked with a most horrific mission, one he could not possibly—and did not—complete. That summer and throughout the next year, Voldemort had taken up residence at Malfoy Manor. That couldn’t have been a pleasant experience. 

The surprises didn’t end there.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Draco’s arm stretch towards her, and then his hand hovered in the air, uncertain. She looked up at him again as his hand descended on her head, gently stroking her hair.

In answer to her questioning look, he asked, “What can I do?” His eyes were hard, his gaze cold, but somehow Ginny recognized this as a mask he wore to hide his true emotions, whatever they were.

She sighed and closed her eyes as a tingle wracked her body from his place of contact on her head all the way down to her toes.

“Nothing,” she said, defeated.

His eyebrow arched. “Nothing?”

She shook her head, and he removed his hand in response.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone.” He struggled for a moment, confusion flashing across his face for just an instant. “We’re a team. We can continue to be a team outside of this faux relationship. If you want.”

Ginny’s lips lifted in a slight, tremulous smile. Tears of gratitude stung her eyes.

“I….” _I’m going to France with Jason Junker tomorrow._ Such small, simple words to pronounce, but they stuck in her throat like boulders, suffocating her. “I’ll tell you about it later. Promise.”

And just like that, her heart calmed, the troublesome muscle’s beating growing less ferocious. She lifted her head, up and up and up until she met Draco’s impassive gaze, and a weight fell off her shoulders. Yes. They were a team. He would support her even if he couldn’t help.

The creases in his brow smoothed out at her words and possibly at the newly apparent relief in her demeanor. “Okay then,” he said as he lowered his hand down to her.

She placed her hand in his and felt warmth, comfort, strength, and she let him pull her back up off the sofa. They stood for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes without moving.

“Okay then,” she agreed.

o o o o

The Greengrass’ home looked cozy from the outside, nestled amongst shrubbery and trees like a setting from a fairytale, and though it was modeled after a quaint cottage, its size put Ginny in mind of an aspiring mansion.

The sun would be setting soon, but for now, beams of light streamed through the branches of the naked trees, leaving spots of warmth on the ground. Ginny’s boots crunched on the snow as they walked up the drive to the three-floored dwelling, and, more than a fairytale, she saw herself as a figure in a Christmas card. She considered the possibility of borrowing a camera to take some surreptitious photographs for the very purpose of sending Christmas tidings to friends and family, but the thought of the holiday suddenly made Ginny shiver in her boots.

“Indoor pool or not, if I catch a cold from this get together—”

“You will have no one to blame but yourself,” Draco answered for her. “You’re the one who agreed to come.”

“Then you will have to hear my incessant grumbling as you spoon-feed me chicken soup in bed.”

“Of course, darling. Anything to return the favor for that coconut cake a few weeks ago.”

Ginny’s cheeks heated in remembrance, and she instantly regretted her joke even as she considered the picture Draco had painted. She could envision it perfectly: Ginny lying prostrate against her pillows while Draco perched on the edge of her bed and held a bowl of soup under her chin. Their positions would be awkward, Draco’s hand clumsy as he lifted the spoon to her lips. Soup would dribble down her chin, and instead of wiping it off her face with a fresh napkin or his sleeve, Draco might feel inclined to lean forward and kiss the mess away for her.

“You’re thinking about the cake now, aren’t you?” Draco asked with a laugh, mirth apparent in his shrewd eyes.

“No, of course not! Don’t be stupid. I wasn’t thinking of anything at all,” she insisted, her face resembling a tomato more with every second that passed. Never mind that she spoke the truth; she _hadn’t_ been thinking about cake after all.

A self-satisfied smirk settled on his mouth, and Ginny couldn’t help but be irritated by it.

An uncomfortable (for Ginny) silence reigned as she inspected the mock-cottage and its surroundings intently. From halfway down the drive, Ginny could tell the roof had been built to look thatched but wasn’t actually constructed from straw. She couldn’t determine what materials had been used in the construction from her vantage point, and she couldn’t fathom why a wealthy family would choose to build their home with modest design elements in mind. Finally, she had to chalk it up to eccentricity. Same could be said for the winding vines that crawled up the cottage wall, particularly around the ground floor windows. Certainly the Greengrasses had appearances to keep up, so the only explanation that made sense to Ginny was that they chose to allow the wildlife to consume their house. Either they didn’t care about maintaining appearances or they cared so much they specifically maintained their home in a pretentious form of disarray.

There wasn’t much to be said about the plot of land on which the cottage sat. Just enough space had been cleared in the woods to build a house and travel to it from a distant road, but the trees loomed over the house and the drive, encroaching on the land that the Greengrasses had carved out for themselves.

It was a lovely, secluded property, and not at all what Ginny had imagined, especially after formally meeting Astoria.

When they reached the door, a servant—human, not house-elf—let them in. They were led through an airy room decorated in rich colors and dark woods that reminded Ginny of the Gryffindor common room. Large windows, a sweeping staircase that led to the upper levels, and an open floor plan gave the inside of the massive cottage an even more exaggerated illusion of size. Near the kitchen—which was only separated from the dining and sitting areas of the room by a sleek, wood-topped bar—glass doors led outside, and this is where the servant led them. With a nod to Draco, he turned on his heel to return to his duties, leaving Draco and Ginny to finish the rest of their journey on their own.

Outside, within a large, circular clearing, what looked like a greenhouse—the largest greenhouse Ginny had ever seen—loomed before them, towering above the trees and the roof of the cottage. Unlike the cottage, this structure had been carefully maintained. No vines dared to grow along these walls.

“Welcome to the Greengrass gymnasium,” Draco said, gesturing toward the impressive building.

“Gymnasium?”

“Yes. Inside you’ll find a swimming pool, a jacuzzi, a tennis court—”

“A tennis court?”

“Tennis is a Muggle sport.”

“I know what tennis is!” Ginny lied.

Draco’s lips twitched as though he saw right through her. “Yes, of course. A tennis court and a pool house,” he finished.

The glass panes of the gymnasium had fogged over from the heat being generated inside, so Ginny couldn’t see any of the features Draco said were there. However, the movement from the blurry silhouettes of the people within were highlighted by the filtered light of the setting sun.

Draco rapped on the glass before letting himself in through a door, and Ginny followed him in.

Steam from the pool and the hot tub assaulted her as soon as she entered, but the warmth soothed her frozen fingers and toes. As they approached the center of activity, she could finally see the other party guests through the fog.

Pansy and a woman Ginny vaguely recognized as Daphne Greengrass lounged in chairs on opposite sides of the pool while Theodore swam laps. Sitting on the edge of the pool, their feet submerged in the water, Harry and Astoria both looked up upon Draco and Ginny’s arrival.

“You’re late!” Astoria said as she climbed to her feet.

Ginny cut an I-told-you-so glance at Draco that he conveniently ignored.

“We’re not late. We’re right on time for a Malfoy.”

“Yes, I’d expect such rudeness from you, but she’s not a Malfoy.” Astoria looked Ginny over, from her wool robes down to her booted feet and the tote bag dangling at Ginny’s side, before amending her statement. “On second thought, I don’t know why I expected better from her, either.”

The words rankled, but Ginny needed to play nice for Harry’s sake, so she just smiled. “Thank you for inviting us. Is there somewhere I can change?”

“I’ll take you,” Draco said, smiling sarcastically at Astoria before leading Ginny to the end of the gymnasium where an actual cottage had been built. They passed a red clay court outlined in white paint with a net strung up in the middle, and though Ginny had never seen anything like it before, she figured this was what Muggles played tennis on.

“Do you play?” she asked Draco. Ultimately she was curious how much time he had spent there, not just inside the gymnasium, but at the Greengrass’ home. He seemed to know the place intimately.

“Badly. Maybe I’ll teach you and we can both play badly together. It would be nice to win once in a while.”

“I’m fairly athletic still. Maybe I would win.”

Draco snorted. “If that happened, I’d give up the sport altogether.”

“How childish,” Ginny replied with an easy smile. “I thought you’d matured.”

“Only where it matters,” he teased back.

Even though the words and his meaning were harmless, Ginny’s face flushed at the image that instantly flitted through her mind, one inspired by too many nights of hot dreams.

Draco, who always seemed to sense when Ginny’s thoughts had turned naughty (which was unfortunately and disturbingly all too often in his presence), outright grinned. Instead of taking the opportunity to force her to admit her fiendish thoughts, he spared her and simply let her into the cottage, which was built and decorated in a similar style to the main house. A red, cushioned chair and matching ottoman sat in front of an empty hearth while a bed constructed of dark wood occupied one corner of the room. A small kitchen was situated in the opposite corner, featuring a wood-burning stove, an icebox, a sink with limited counter space, and a small, mahogany table and chair. A door on the left side of the room led to, presumably, a toilet.

“What’s the point?” Ginny asked as she looked around.

Draco seemed to understand her underlying question and shrugged. “The Greengrasses are a strange lot. Always have been. Never liked Muggles, yet when Daphne and Astoria’s grandfather came into his money, his wife designed and decorated their new home with Muggle aesthetics in mind. The wealthy Muggles, though. I guess that’s how they justified their design choices, not that their new peers ever accepted their justifications.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Wealthy Muggles build tiny models of their houses on their property inside greenhouses?”

“It’s a gymnasium, not a greenhouse. And this is a _pool house_. If you have an in-ground pool, obviously you need a pool house to go along with it.”

“But why?” she asked. She was starting to get that same itchy feeling that overcame her whenever she stepped inside her father’s garage, where he kept his collection of Muggle artifacts. Her father was fascinated by the mystery surrounding the usage and construction of the objects he found, but when Ginny glimpsed his collection, she felt like she was staring at a language she didn’t understand. She’d learned years ago not to ask her father about his plugs and rubber ducks, for he knew as much about them as Ginny did, and it looked like asking Draco similar questions about Muggle culture would lead to the same incomprehensible result. Why she thought Draco could ever enlighten her about Muggle culture, she had no idea. Perhaps he had inspired in her a confidence that he had matured since his Hogwarts days after all.

“I don’t know. That’s the only explanation I ever received. Best not to ask; I don’t think anyone alive knows what Ernesto and Sylvia Greengrass were thinking when they built this place.” He plopped down into the chair and drew his wand, conjuring flames in the fireplace. “Shouldn’t you be getting changed?” he asked, one eyebrow rising in inquiry.

“What about you?”

“There’s only one bathroom. You can go first.”

Ginny made her way through the single door on the left wall and closed it behind her, wondering, again, what she was doing here. Given a moment alone without the distraction of Draco’s presence and conversation, Ginny’s breathing became shallower as she remembered what lay in store for her tomorrow afternoon. She did not want to be here waging emotional warfare against Astoria Greengrass while attempting to prevent Harry from becoming a casualty. She had liked Pansy well enough following her two most recent encounters with her, but after Draco’s confession the day before, Ginny didn’t know how well she would be able to maintain her civility towards the woman.

She had no qualms with Theodore and Daphne—for now. But Ginny could tell navigating the waters between Pansy and Astoria would be taxing enough. Was this how Draco had felt when she’d taken him to The Burrow? He’d seemed so confident back then, and he’d played his part as Ginny’s boyfriend to perfection. In fact, Ginny, too, had played her part well, but she wasn’t sure how convincing she would be tonight, not with all her other problems weighing on her mind.

Refraining from collapsing to the floor, Ginny closed her eyes and threw her shoulders back against the door, and then she breathed in, long and slow until her lungs would expand no further. She held the breath for two beats and then released it, controlling the flow of air as carefully as she had when inhaling. It took nine breaths for her to calm down enough to yank off her boots and then pull her bathing suit out of her tote bag and change into it. She had to take three more breaths after she put it on when she looked in the mirror and realized Draco would see her in what essentially amounted to a bra and knickers. Kicking herself, she wished she’d brought a one-piece bathing suit instead.

A knock sounded at the door, startling Ginny away from the slab of wood as if it had bitten her.

“Merlin, Weasley. How long does it take to put on a swimming costume?”

She rolled her eyes at his use of her last name, and then she threw on her unbuttoned robe, though the material did little to cover her front, merely hiding her arms and her backside from view.

Draco was nearly nose to nose with her (but with their height difference, it was more like ‘nose to collarbone’ for her and ‘nose to the air above her head’ for him) when she threw the door open, and she smirked as he stumbled over his feet in the process of stepping backward to provide more space. His eyes widened and then narrowed in quick succession at her appearance.

She attempted to conceal her mortification with an indifferent expression, but her complexion, as always, gave her away when she flushed. And now she was wearing significantly less clothing than usual, making her blush all the more apparent. Weeks ago, inside an elevator on the day this dating charade began, Jason Junker had wondered how far down Ginny’s blush could spread. From the way his gaze flicked down and then up again, Draco knew exactly how much of her body turned red when her emotions were high.

She clutched her tote bag to her stomach and looked away from the heated look in his eyes. “All yours,” she said. “I’ll just go join the others.”

To say Ginny fled the cottage would have been an understatement, and though she truly had no wish to join Astoria and her friends without Draco to support her, she did just that.

Harry waved her over to the side of the pool as soon as she came into view, smiling in relief.

Ginny put her bag down on an unoccupied lounge chair and then shrugged out of her robes. She kept her head down to avoid the murderous gaze she expected on Astoria’s face as she sat down next to Harry and submerged her legs in the water. Pleasantly surprised by the temperature, she swished her feet back and forth, enjoying the resistance as she created her own personal whirlpool. In fact, she was surprised at how quickly she had forgotten the current month and the nearness of the upcoming holiday. The temperature of the interior of the gymnasium put her more in mind of early summer than winter.

“I’m glad you came,” Harry said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she replied. Her voice lowered. “I feel a little….”

Harry laughed. “Out of place?”

“Waaaay out of my element.”

He looked around the gymnasium in appreciation. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not The Burrow, but it’s interesting in its own way.”

That comment eased some of Ginny’s nervousness. A part of her might have secretly worried that Harry had changed since he began dating Astoria. He hadn’t told Ron or any of Ginny’s other family members about his girlfriend yet, and though she understood his reasons for hiding Astoria from them, she couldn’t help but wonder if his secrecy had been a way of separating himself from the family that had adopted him as one of their own. But he was still the same Harry she’d known half her life. The Greengrasses had a unique home, one unlike any Ginny had ever seen, but he still preferred the haphazard homeliness of The Burrow.

Astoria came to loom over them, her shadow creating a wall between Harry and Ginny. “Ginevra, have you met the rest of my guests?” she asked in a saccharine tone.

Recognizing a cease and desist when she saw one, Ginny pulled her feet out of the water and stood. “Some of them, but why don’t you reintroduce me?”

Astoria led her to the far side of the pool, putting as much distance between Ginny and Harry as possible, where her sister lounged.

Though the sun was setting, the light penetrating the glass walls of the gymnasium fading, half of Daphne’s face was obscured by large-lensed sunglasses. The woman herself was darker than her sister, her hair a chocolate brown rather than sandy like Astoria’s, her skin tanner. Both sisters were willowy, with long, slender limbs that Ginny might have envied had she suffered from low self-esteem. She faintly recognized the woman from glimpses she’d caught of her in the halls of Hogwarts years ago, but the Greengrasses had kept to themselves, so they hadn’t joined their fellow Slytherins in bullying students from other houses.

Astoria cleared her throat to catch her sister’s attention. “Ginevra, this is my sister, Daphne. Daphne, meet Draco’s newest emotional chew toy, Ginevra.”

“What does that mean?” Ginny asked, her attention diverted from Daphne back to Astoria.

Daphne sat up and took off her sunglasses, revealing startling blue eyes. Though she didn’t roll them, from the expression on her face, Ginny imagined the woman had just barely suppressed the urge. “Astoria isn’t Draco’s biggest fan.”

“He isn’t emotionally capable of being in a committed relationship. He uses women to make himself feel good, and then when they become tiresome, he throws them away like last week’s moldy leftovers!”

“Astoria,” Daphne said to Ginny, “is not only blinded by love for her sister, she is also a professional grudge-holder. I wouldn’t get on her bad side.”

Ginny couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were talking about. Clearly something had happened between the sisters and Draco that had soured Astoria’s relationship with him but not Daphne’s. If that was the case, Astoria must have loved Harry a great deal in order for her to force herself to spend an evening with two people she did not like at all: Ginny simply for being Harry’s ex, and Draco for some misdeed in his past.

The accusation against Draco rattled Ginny more than she expected, though her discomfort at the news must have been mostly due to the shock of it. Their relationship was a farce, so Ginny had no emotional attachment to it or to him, and yet she couldn’t help but worry. Draco had distanced himself from her before as if he wanted to end their relationship. What if he did so again and she couldn’t convince him to come back into the fold? What if he left her high and dry when she needed him most simply because he’d grown bored? 

The concern and confusion must have been obvious on Ginny’s face because Daphne touched Astoria’s arm and said, “Why don’t you go entertain your boyfriend. He’s looking a little lost all by his lonesome.”

Harry did, in fact, look uncomfortable. Theodore had climbed out of the pool while Ginny had been changing inside the pool house and was now lounging on a chair next to his wife, snoring. Pansy had a book in her hands as she studiously pretended to ignore everyone around her. In the few seconds Ginny had been watching, however, Pansy’s eyes had darted up to look at her and the Greengrass sisters multiple times. Everyone was minding their own business, or trying to, leaving Harry quite alone at the end of the pool, and Draco hadn’t come back from the pool house yet, either.

“Fine,” Astoria said with a sniff. “I don’t know why you choose to forgive that prat anyway.” With a tilt of her nose—the higher, the more supercilious her attitude—she sashayed over to Harry, who beamed as she drew closer.

Daphne patted the space on the chair next to her, and since Draco hadn’t yet reappeared (How long did it take to change into swim trunks anyway?), Ginny sat down.

“Don’t mind her. She takes any slight to me personally.”

“What kind of slight?” Ginny wondered how badly Draco had wronged the two women—and whether she needed to prepare herself to be wronged by Draco as well.

Daphne waved her hand as if batting away an inconsequential fly. “A childish one. I was foolish in my youth. At Hogwarts, I thought I fancied Draco, but he didn’t fancy me back. My pride was hurt for a little while, and then I got over it.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “Was he cruel?” Ginny asked.

“Not overly so. He was his typical self. If you remember what Draco was like at Hogwarts, that’s how he treated Pansy and me.”

Ginny remembered Draco as childish and cruel, willing to pounce on any weakness or insecurity anyone displayed. Harry might have been his favorite target, and by association Harry’s closest friends and defenders as well, but she had witnessed him taunting plenty of students throughout their years together at Hogwarts, up until the war caught up with him and he began to keep to himself. Daphne might not have thought his treatment of his fellow students cruel, but the memory of his belligerence and imagining him using it against peers he considered his equal left a sour taste in Ginny’s mouth. She wasn’t sure why considering he’d done worse things during the war than tease Harry about fame or Dementors. He’d conspired with Death Eaters, casted Unforgivables, attempted to murder Albus Dumbledore.

And yet Draco’s treatment of his friends was the part of his past that made Ginny uneasy. She would have to consider the reasons behind her reaction further at another time.

Then Daphne’s words caught up with her, and Ginny said, “Pansy, too?” Her thoughts churned. What if there was a correlation between how Draco had treated Pansy back at Hogwarts and how she belittled him now?

“Oh, yes. We both admitted our feelings to Draco around the same time, and we were both harshly rejected. Honestly, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. If Draco hadn’t turned me down, I might still be deluding myself that I like men.” She shuddered theatrically at the very idea.

Ginny smiled, remembering what she’d overheard Astoria say to Narcissa in Daphne’s shop a few weeks ago about Daphne being unwilling to marry Draco due to liking women instead. “Did he hurt you that badly?” she asked, honestly curious but also partially joking.

Daphne laughed. “Lord, no. I was angry—outraged, even! I found out that Draco turned Pansy down as well, so she and I began snogging in broom closets around Hogwarts to make ourselves feel better. I realized very quickly which sex I had a preference for after that.”

Ginny knew her mouth was hanging open as her head swiveled in Pansy’s direction. The woman in question stared over her book, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she looked away when Ginny gaped at her.

“I—I didn’t know,” Ginny said, reeling from the revelation.

“Didn’t know what?” Draco asked, making Ginny jump as he approached them from behind.

She turned and craned her head up, but her reply to his question stuck in her throat. Weeks ago, Ginny had marveled over Draco’s biceps as she’d prepared him to meet her family for lunch. He’d been fully dressed then. Now… nothing could have prepared her for the sight before her, which was ridiculous, really, because deep inside she’d known Draco would have to dress down for a pool party. Way down. She just hadn’t taken the time to imagine Draco in nothing more than swim trunks before. Considering how often Ginny dreamed about him and then fingered herself to the thought of him upon waking, that was quite the accomplishment.

At work, his robes hid the breadth of his shoulders, and even though she’d seen him in a fitted Muggle suit that highlighted the span of them, she had never witnessed the width of them like she did now: completely unadorned and exposed. He wasn’t a big man by any means; he wasn’t chiseled and rolling with muscle. But he was tall and lean, and she could just envision his arms wrapped around her, how strong they would feel, how warm. A light dusting of hair coated his chest and trailed down into the waistband of his trunks, and as her gaze lowered, Ginny’s whole body ran hot, suddenly, finally imagining the sorts of things Draco could do in his swimwear—and out. 

Her face burned as red as the clay that made up the Greengrass tennis court, so she ducked her head.

“Did I interrupt something?” Draco asked in a tone that sounded sincerely worried, dashing any hope that her reaction had gone unnoticed.

“Not at all,” Daphne said, and _she_ was staring pointedly at Ginny, smirking at her in a sly way that told her Daphne had not missed Ginny’s reaction at all. “We were just getting to know one another better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's been less than two months since my last update!!! I've actually been sitting on this chapter for a few days because I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I decided I just had to let it go. So let me know what you think!
> 
> Next chapter we'll see the second half of the pool party from Draco's POV!


	11. A Pool Party (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Smut exists at the very beginning of this chapter. If you really want to skip it, start reading at "He continued to breath for several moments..."

Draco grappled with the closed door, looking for purchase as he pressed his back against the smooth wood. Back and forth, he alternated between clenching his hands into fists and flattening them against the door, anything to keep himself from burying them in his pants and wrapping them around his aching cock. 

It had been weeks since he’d wanked himself off, and he seemed to have carried the tension from avoiding it with him since the last time, his body just waiting for something to trigger a hard on that refused to go away without a squeeze and a tug.

Ginny Weasley in a bikini had been a revelation, a vision ripped straight out of any teenaged boy’s fantasy. But Draco was no teenager, and he resented his lack of control when it came to his body. When it came to her. He was trying to do something decent, trying not to be an absolute cad like her disgusting boss. He couldn’t control his thoughts—fantasies came to him unbidden in those drowsy moments just before he fell asleep and sometimes even in his dreams—but he could control how he reacted to those thoughts.

Except when he couldn’t.

His noncompliant cock seemed to have missed the No Wanking memo, so here he was, stuck in the Greengrass pool house’s bathroom, his robes tented and his body so sensitive he was afraid to touch himself even in an innocent way. He took several deep breaths, closed his eyes, grappled with the door again, his hands flexing, and then he tried to banish the erection away with the least sexy images he could think of. A dead dog on the side of a road where a Muggle had smashed it with an automobile. His mother’s face if she ever realized how much her son lusted after a Weasley. His aunt Bellatrix prostrating before the Dark Lord like some sick sycophant. Professor Flitwick dancing in the nude.

None of them worked. All his blood ran due south and pounded in his cock, making the ache worse. He groaned out loud, wishing he was the kind of man who could take and take and take without caring about the people he took from. Wishing he had it in him to seduce Ginevra Weasley and get her out of his system. Wishing he wouldn’t feel like such a dirtbag if he took care of a basic need.

His trembling fingers reached for the buttons of his robe with the thought that maybe ignoring this problem would make it disappear. Maybe if he stopped focusing on it in agony, his stupid erection would deflate and he could go about getting through this party.

But an image of Ginny in that bathing suit, two matching pieces of pink material revealing so so so much skin, made his cock twitch instead, and even though he was careful not to touch himself, when his fingers brushed against his skin while undoing the fourth button, goosebumps spread all over his body. His nipples hardened and he felt the shifting of the robe’s material against them, luxuriating in the fur lining that had kept him warm until this moment when he suddenly began to burn _hot_.

He released his breath in a gasp and clenched his teeth, his whole body frozen as it throbbed.

“Be a man, Draco,” he muttered to himself. _Finish what she started and then take her, too._

A new image popped into his head: Ginny standing before him with a shocked look on her face. And then her expression crumpled, her mouth widened, opened, laughter spilling out. _Me? Go out with_ you _? As if!_

Her imaginary rejection should have cooled his unwanted passion immediately. Instead, he couldn’t help but focus on that laughter, the way she expressed her amusement with her whole body, clutching herself as she doubled over with glee. He couldn’t help but imagine the wrinkles that manifested at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, her brown eyes, so warm and open. He’d seen amusement in those eyes, frustration, desperation, fear. He’d seen her lips turned down into a frown and he’d felt them pressed against his.

A moan escaped his lips now as he remembered those kisses, and before Draco could stop himself, one hand hitched up his half-unbuttoned robe while the other flattened against his stomach and slid downward. Under the waistband of his pants. Wrapping around his hot, hard cock. His eyelids crashed closed as he stroked, up and down, his thumb teasing the slit at the top where precum gathered, using the moisture to stroke _harder, faster, harder, faster_ until pressure began to build in his bollocks, and his free hand came down to squeeze his heavy sack, which triggered an explosion of pleasure that radiated out from his core like a supernova—

An extended, strangled groan pierced the silence as his hips jerked and he finally released the breath he’d been holding, just to suck in a new one. He slid to the ground as he gasped, his legs too weak to hold him anymore, his hands still grasping his shrinking, sticky length as if affixed there with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

He continued to breath for several moments before opening his eyes, and when he stood, he did so without meeting the gaze of his reflection in the mirror. Turning on the tap of the sink, he tried to strike what he’d done from his memory by washing it off his hands, wiping the evidence of his actions off his body with his robes, until he remembered his wand and cast several Scouring Charms instead.

Then he removed his shrunken swimwear from the pocket of his robes and returned them to their proper size so he could change into the green trunks. He Vanished his underwear for good measure, and only then did he finally look himself in the eye.

The Draco Malfoy in the mirror was flushed, his cheeks tinged pink, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion. His hair was in a new state of disarray, the pomade he’d applied that morning no longer restraining the locks that framed his face and fell against his forehead, into his eyes. He looked disheveled and thoroughly fucked, which wasn’t even fair because Draco had never in his life been thoroughly fucked. His hand, while adequate, hardly counted as a shag at all.

He tried to put his hair back to rights, sweeping it away from his face, slicking it back without the use of a styling product, but the platinum mass refused to cooperate.

“Fine,” he growled at himself. “I’ll just leave it, then.”

The scar that streaked across his chest, nearly bisecting him from his left shoulder to his right hip, was much more amenable to his wishes. A few wordless flicks of his wand and the scar became hidden under a glamour that made his chest look smooth and flawless. Just as it had looked at the age of sixteen, before Potter had sliced him open in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He remembered the intense desperation of those moments after Potter's discovery, when he had been willing to do anything to stop Potter from telling anyone what he'd witnessed. Draco might have deserved the scar—in his darkest moments during the war and after, he'd been certain he did deserve it—but he had no wish to wear it as a badge of shame. Not when the Dark Mark was impervious to any magic that would try to conceal it and worked even better as a mark of dishonor than the evidence of Potter's attack did.

With a final unsatisfied glance at his reflection, Draco gathered his things to join the others.

It was times like these when he appreciated his aunt Bellatrix’s lessons in Occlumency. As far as Draco was concerned, what had transpired in this bathroom never happened. He locked the memory of it inside a chest at the back of his mind. That was the only way he would get through this evening. The only way he would be able to look Ginny in the eyes.

The humid heat that met him when he exited the pool house did little to ease his tension. In fact, the warmth that engulfed him only made him drowsier and summoned memories of old fantasies he should not be revisiting at the moment. He locked those, too, in the chest using Occlumency and with a deep breath cleared his mind.

The sight of Ginny sitting so close to Daphne made him instantly forget his troublesome thoughts, securing his Occlumantic hold on them. He should have realized he’d left Ginny to the mercy of his friends while he’d been locked inside the pool house. He rushed past the tennis court to the pool as Ginny’s words floated up to him.

“I—I didn't know,” she said, in a tone that sounded like regret mixed with shock.

What had Daphne said during Draco’s absence? With Draco out of earshot, she could have unleashed any number of horrific stories from his childhood upon unsuspecting Ginny. He hadn’t been a saint. Still wasn’t, if the incident in the bathroom he was _not_ thinking about was anything to go by. All the same, there was no need to remind Ginny of the boy he’d been. He’d worked too hard since the end of the war to try to bury that boy in his past and redeem himself as a law-abiding, unobtrusive member of society.

“Didn’t know what?” Draco asked as he finally reached the two women.

Ginny startled and spun around so fast, it was a miracle she hadn’t detached her torso from her legs. Daphne, unruffled by Draco’s approach, merely smiled at him—a foxy smile he didn’t trust.

Draco kept his eyes on Ginny’s face as much as possible, but he couldn’t help but notice the smooth expanse of skin above her breasts, the long line of her neck, the curve where neck and shoulders met. A marking on her lower back captured his attention, obscured by her twisted torso, but before he could figure out what he’d seen, Ginny shifted her body around to more comfortably face Draco.

Her face was frozen in a stricken expression, her eyes wide. Daphne stared at her, thoughtfully scheming, as Ginny’s skin began to change color. Her creamy complexion darkened to a warm, rose-colored hue, burning hottest at her ears but spreading across her face and down her neck.

Something had happened while he was away. Daphne must have regaled Ginny with one too many stories. Maybe she’d told Ginny he was a virgin. Maybe her disbelief would turn into mocking laughter soon. He didn’t want to know what was going on, not really, but he needed to be prepared if any of his secrets had been spilled.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, worried by what he’d hear.

“Not at all,” Daphne replied. “We were just getting to know one another better.” She finally looked away from Ginny, who’s eyes, too, finally lowered.

“Should I be worried?” Draco asked. There hadn’t been a point in asking because he already was worried, about Ginny’s behavior in particular. She continued to avoid his gaze, and he noticed now that her fingers had grown white from how tightly she clenched the towel spread on the chair under her.

“Probably,” Daphne said with a smile before bouncing to her feet. “Come on, you guys haven’t even been in the pool yet. We must rectify this at once.” She took a running start before performing a spectacular cannonball, sending a wave of water all around to splash Draco, Ginny, Pansy—who snatched her book out of the way ineffectively and glared—and Theodore—who startled awake and sat up in alarm. Astoria and Potter were already in the pool and merely ducked underwater to avoid the violent splash.

Draco frowned as he wiped water off his arms and chest, but the splash seemed to have revived Ginny somewhat. At the very least, her head rose to look at him again.

“Daphne told me about Pansy. Pansy and her. Together. They were together?”

“Oh,” Draco said in unconcealed relief as he sat down next to her. “That. Yeah, for several years, actually. Up until Pansy and Theodore became engaged.”

“But….” Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment and then her expression cleared. “You know what? Never mind.”

Her preoccupation with the subject intrigued Draco, mostly out of gratitude that Daphne hadn’t told her anything worse. Or maybe out of curiosity about her reaction to unexpected information. If she was this puzzled over Pansy’s sexuality, how would she react to Draco’s so far lack of?

“What?” Draco asked, eager to get to the bottom of her discomfort. Eager to unravel her thoughts so he could more accurately predict future situations, when they might potentially have this kind of serious conversation about himself instead of his friends.

She shook her head, laughed a little without opening her mouth in that way that could be considered a snort rather than a true giggle. Rueful. Defeated.

“I’m just getting the sense that you lot are more complicated than I ever believed possible. I’d already had the idea that Pansy was a difficult person to figure out, but now I’m realizing it’s all of you.”

Draco made sure to keep his expression carefully composed, but inside his ribcage, his heart raced and constricted at the same time. The experience was painful; he did not recommend it.

“Me, too?”

She did that rueful, snorting laugh again. Shook her head again. “Even you. Did you know Astoria still hates you because you rejected Daphne?”

He hardly felt the shock now. Again he wondered how much of his past had been revealed while he’d been in the pool house. “No.”

“Well, she does. She’s still holding a wicked gr—”

“No,” Draco interrupted her. “I meant that’s not why she hates me. At least, I don’t think so.” The look Ginny aimed at him, wide-eyed with more confusion, caused him to scramble to clarify. “I mean, it _is_. But it’s more than that.”

“What is it then?” He did not imagine the trepidation in her voice.

Whatever had been said in his absence, she fully expected the worst from him. He could see that now in a way he hadn’t seen from her since they’d begun their faux relationship. An inexplicable disappointment seized him at the thought that she was no longer on his side. No longer willing to defend him. But what did she know about him truly? He’d taken her support for granted these last few weeks.

“I suspect from things Pansy has told me that she hates me because the way I treated her sister made Daphne realize that she doesn’t like men. And in Astoria’s eyes, that only made Daphne’s life harder. Hers, too. There isn’t much of the Greengrass wealth left, so it’s up to Daphne and Astoria to marry well. Astoria is afraid Daphne won’t be able to marry at all now. She’s more afraid that Daphne doesn’t _want_ to, and she blames me for their uncertain future.”

He could see the wheels turning in Ginny’s head as evident by her brow furrowing further and her eyes narrowing in thought, but before she could reply to Draco’s revelation, a heavy stream of water blasted them both right in their faces. Their arms flew up to cover their heads, and Draco squinted against the onslaught to see who had deigned to attack them.

“Honestly, is this a pool party or not!” Daphne cried in indignation, her torso turning to direct her wand around the edges of the pool, spraying Astoria, Harry, Pansy, and Theodore as well.

“Watch it, Daphne!” Draco snarled, but the sound of Ginny laughing next to him instantly cooled his irritation.

“Come on!” she said, their conversation forgotten as she copied Daphne by taking a running start before jumping into the pool, legs clutched to her chest, head tucked against her knees.

Draco sighed in exasperation, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips even as he was splashed for the third time in the span of a few minutes.

As he approached the edge of the pool, Ginny called from the center, where her head bobbed above the surface. “Jump in!” 

“How old do you think I am?” he said with a sneer. She responded by wiping the length of her arm across the pool’s surface, sending a wave in his direction, soaking his toes with warm water.

“Don’t be a baby, Draco,” Daphne said as she floated past Ginny with a lazy backstroke.

On the other side of the pool, Pansy and Theodore descended the ladder and waded their way into the middle with Daphne and Ginny. Astoria and Potter remained at the end of the pool, where the wall jutted out a bit to create a convenient bench, their heads, at first lowered and close together, now rising to watch the commotion.

“Yeah, don’t be so pathetic,” Pansy said, amending Daphne’s previous words.

He caught the angry flash on Ginny’s face as her head whipped around to glare at Pansy, and his heart soared, filling him with warmth as if he’d already submerged himself in the water. No matter what Daphne had told her in those minutes he’d been inside the pool house, she still supported him. She still defended him. They were still _a team_.

So Draco took four giant steps back to give himself a running start, and when he jumped into the pool, he aimed to land as close to Pansy as possible.

When he emerged from the depths, Pansy was screeching at him, but he looked at Ginny, who was overcome with laughter, and they shared a secret, sly smile at Pansy’s expense. A gentle touch from Theodore across Pansy’s back as he swam past her seemed to soothe her well enough.

Bobbing in the water, his arms and legs kicking and circling like a frog, Draco watched as Ginny climbed out of the pool, water dripping, her hair plastered to her head and her shoulders. Once again, he caught a glimpse of some kind of marking on her lower back, but he forgot it for a moment as she walked the length of the diving board, her toes curling around the short edge to steady herself. She stood above them all, in full view, and Draco couldn’t help but admire her body. She wasn’t as willowy as Astoria in her ruffled gold bikini, but like Pansy, Ginny was stocky. Short and strong and athletic under her softness.

Her pale pink bikini made her skin look even whiter, but the contrast made the small smattering of freckles along her shoulders and arms stand out.

She bounced on the edge of the board. Once. Twice. The third time she dove into the pool, her arms above her head, her hands touching as she sliced through the water in a perfect arc, down, down, down, and then rising up, up, up. A smile spread across her face as she broke the surface, a laugh clearly on the verge of escaping. 

Overcome with the desire to pull her against him, to feel that smile against his skin, to experience the gentle rumble of her laughter deep inside his chest, he swam to her, and his heart did indeed stop when she beamed at him.

He took her hand for lack of anything better to do, and he pulled her to the edge, to one of those ledges that formed a convenient bench along the short ends of the pool. The height of the ledge allowed them to sit with heads and shoulders above water, the rest of their bodies cocooned in warmth. Despite the heat of the gymnasium, gooseflesh popped up along Draco’s skin, starting at his shoulders and covering his chest, shooting across his arms and making him especially aware of her hand still in his.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone swimming,” she said with a contented sigh. “Maybe the summer after the war? After I started working at the Ministry, I never seemed to be able to find time for things like this.”

He tried not to think about what he’d been doing the summer after the war. Swimming had been the last thing on his to-do list, even after his trial and acquittal.

“What did you do before you worked at the Ministry?” he asked. Her eyes had drifted shut and he used this opportunity to study her face, the line of her nose, her eyelashes surprisingly dark against her cheeks, the length of her neck as she tilted her head back. Her hair, a faded, muted color when dry, became a deep orange when wet that reminded him of happily crackling flames and autumnal leaves. Everything about her was vivid without her even trying.

“I helped my brother in his joke shop,” she answered, her eyes fluttering open as she settled against the wall more comfortably. “Fred’s passing was… difficult. I worked there for about a year, but I wanted to pursue my own passions. As much as I love George and as proud as I am of what he and Fred built, retail was not in the cards for me.”

“But mediating spirits was?”

She shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’s mine. It wasn’t picked out for me by my family, handed down from my brothers, purchased second-hand. I chose it for myself, and I do enjoy it. You know, when my boss isn’t hitting on me.”

Her smile, small and self-deprecating as it was, was painful to look at, but Draco returned it with his own small, painful smile.

He thought about what she’d said though, before the reference to Junker and her attempt to make light of his actions, about choice, and he understood exactly what she meant.

“What about you?” she asked as if she’d seen inside his head. “Why did you start working for the Ministry?”

Without realizing it, his thumb grazed her hand over and over again until she squeezed his fingers. A sign that she was there. With him. He knew that, of course he knew that, but the way she acknowledged his touch bolstered him. It felt emotional instead of physical, and for the first time since this whole charade started, he felt like her equal. Their experiences, if not the same, were similar.

“Same reason as you, I guess,” he said, his free hand rising from the water to run through his hair. He was distinctly aware of her eyes watching that hand and a shiver ran through his body, wondering what she thought about what she saw. Wondering if she’d noticed his slight tremble. “I wanted something that was mine. It didn’t take long after the war for my mum to start badgering me about marrying. I rebelled and got a job instead. She was furious when Pansy married Theodore. She was certain Pansy was a sure thing. She didn’t count on Ianthe Parkinson shunning us because of my father’s imprisonment. Pansy’s father was in Azkaban at the time, too, but he served a much, much shorter sentence, so her mother thought Pansy could do better than us. I began working at the Ministry to get away from home, to try and do something for myself. Something my father hadn’t done. Something honest.”

He frowned at the surface of the water, watching how it rippled in response to whatever the others were doing on the other side of the pool, mesmerized by how far their actions reached. It was not lost on him that the pool, the ripples, the distance between his friends and himself, they all formed some kind of poetic metaphor for his life. His father on one end of the pool, Draco on the other trying to escape the ripples his family’s actions had created. Trying to create his own.

Then he looked at Ginny again and wondered what it meant that she was by his side. She wasn’t looking at the ripples at all. She fixed her gaze totally on him, her eyes as warm as the water that swaddled them.

This time when Ginny smiled, slow and creeping across her lips but genuine all the same, she did so for him. Because of him. “That,” she said, her voice low and warm, “is the least pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He could have kissed her for those words. He _wanted_ to. They’d drawn close enough together that if he bent his head just slightly, if she lifted hers…. They hardly had to move at all, and in a moment their lips could have been touching, sending violently gentle shocks along his body, igniting every nerve ending, shooting fire through his veins. He knew her kiss would be like that because that’s what the last two kisses had been like, and that’s exactly how he imagined them when he allowed himself to imagine kissing her at all.

He wanted to kiss her, and Draco hardly knew anything about women, but he suspected from the color in her cheeks and her intent gaze that she would have let him. His whole body warmed at the idea of dropping his head and caressing her lips with his— _here_ , in front of his friends, her ex-boyfriend—but before he could officially act on the desire, a deluge of water fell over their heads, soaking them and startling them out of the intimate moment.

He hadn’t heard the crash as Pansy cannon-balled right over their heads, making a wet entrance a mere three feet away from the edge of the pool. A wicked smile lit her face as she surfaced, her eyes darting between Draco and Ginny, and Draco knew she was paying him back for his earlier splash.

“Getting cozy?” she asked, her sly grin widening at the sudden discomfort her question elicited.

Draco would have liked to shove her head back underwater for ruining whatever had been happening between Ginny and him, even if nothing would have happened at all. All he could see of Ginny now was her red ears as she turned her head away, and Draco’s disappointment overwhelmed him. Maybe he should have taken action, maybe he should have turned one of his fantasies—one of the more innocent delusions he sometimes entertained during idle minutes—into a reality. It was too late now.

“We were just getting to know one another better,” Ginny said, a soft smile curling her lips.

“Speaking of getting to know one another better,” Draco said, “what in Merlin’s name is on your back?”

“My back?” She leaned away from the wall and twisted her torso to look over her shoulder, but the marking, whatever it was, remained concealed underwater.

“Not up there,” Draco said, and before he realized what he was doing, he placed a finger between her shoulder blades, trailing it downward to her lower back where he could vaguely see a discoloration on her skin, the image undulating as the water rocked back and forth with their movements. “Here.” The word came out a bit breathlessly.

Pansy’s eyes darted in his direction, and he ignored the knowing smirk that stretched across her face even as the smug expression summoned her words from a few weeks ago to the surface of his memory. They came easily—of course they did; he hadn’t thought to lock them away with other bothersome recollections.

_Oh, sweetie. You fancy her, that’s all._

_I hate to break it to you, Draco, but you two aren’t pretending to date. You_ are _dating._

A shiver raced down Ginny’s spine at his touch, and he pulled his hand away before he did something idiotic. Like trail both hands over her skin just to watch the goosebumps rise or grab her by the waist and pull her against him. His mouth dried at the thought of having her body pressed against his, her back to his front, while they were both wearing mere scraps of fabric that did little to cover, well, anything, really.

Yes, their bathing suits hid the essential areas deemed inappropriate and taboo for public exposure, but what about the soft swell of her stomach? The elegant curve of her calves? The line of her collarbone? The light freckles scattered across her shoulders like a negative image of the night sky? Her fingertips and the palms of her hands, which she had glided across his Dark Mark without hesitation or disgust? He wanted to explore every expanse, every rise and fall, every blemish. He wanted to touch and taste every part of her that she would allow, and not all of those parts could be concealed by a bikini or a one-piece swimsuit or even a dress.

But he kept his hands to himself and he locked his desires away, banishing them to the darkest recesses of his mind where they couldn’t cause any trouble.

 _“Oh,”_ Ginny said, her voice a little unsteady and color rising to her cheeks. “That. It’s a tattoo.”

“You have a tattoo?” a shrill voice asked. Draco had nearly forgotten Pansy’s presence.

“It’s a silly thing,” Ginny replied, pressing her back against the wall of the pool again. Her blush deepened, spreading to her ears and neck.

“What is it?” Draco asked, intrigued by her reaction. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was the cause. Had he embarrassed her by noticing the tattoo? By openly asking her about it?

She sighed, not exactly in exasperation but perhaps in defeat. Then she turned around and pulled herself halfway out of the water, using her forearms and the side of the pool to leverage her weight.

On her lower back, just above the band of her bikini bottoms, a hyper-realistic Golden Snitch was etched into her skin, silver wings outstretched on either side of the ball. The ink glinted in the fading sunlight as if she had been injected with precious metals, though he suspected magic had more to do with the realistic sheen. He couldn’t imagine Ginny Weasley choosing to spend money on something as extravagant as a twenty-four karat gold tattoo.

“I thought you were a Chaser?” Draco said, confused by her choice of permanent body art. He recalled she had played Seeker for Gryffindor for a short time when Potter hadn’t been able to attend matches, but she’d taken on the position of Chaser when given the chance to try out for her House’s team.

Ginny lowered herself back into the water and avoided his eyes as she answered.

“I got it after the war, a bit after Harry and I got back together. There’s a charm, too.” Her gaze lowered as she began to fidget. “A charm that makes the tattoo fly around my body. It freezes when someone catches it.”

Now he understood her discomfort and unwillingness to talk about the tattoo with him, and Draco couldn’t stop his lip curling in disgust even if he tried. He tried not to think about Ginny and Potter, limbs tangling as Potter visually and physically searched her body for the Snitch. Tried not to imagine her breathless laughter as her now ex-boyfriend tickled her. Tried to banish a vision of their celebratory kiss after Potter did what a good Seeker should: catch the Snitch.

And he tried not to remember Pansy’s words from the pub a few weeks ago or the consequent fantasy his mind had concocted at hearing them.

_She’s a pureblood. She’s somewhat pretty. She has some talent on a broomstick, which might come in handy in the bedroom, I’m just saying._

He failed in every respect.

“That’s so sweet,” Pansy said, once more breaking the tension. Her face featured its own expression of extreme distaste. “So sweet it’s _gross_. Have fun with that information, Draco.”

She backstroked away from them, back to the other side of the pool where Theodore and Daphne were floating on their backs in repose and Astoria and Potter were huddled together (much like Draco and Ginny were on the opposite end).

Ginny’s voice was low, and her eyes were closed in mortification. “It was stupid. I thought things were going to be like they were when we started dating at Hogwarts. I thought we were going to last forever. It never occurred to me that I would ever grow to feel differently about him.”

“You don’t need to explain. But….” He trailed off, reluctant to voice the thought that had suddenly come to him.

“But what?”

A heavy pause followed her question, and then Draco put his hand on her lower back, just over the Snitch. He let his fingers press into her skin, his presence more than apparent through his light touch, but he didn’t stroke her like he was dying to. He gave her his touch and that was all.

She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze again, a question shining in their brown depths.

“Isn’t it convenient that I played Seeker, too?”

He felt her shiver again, but this time he didn’t remove his hand. This time, their gazes were locked until her eyes flitted downward, just slightly and for just a moment, and a wave of heat hotter than the temperature of the water engulfed him as he realized she’d been looking at his lips. His lone hand on her back pressed harder. All he had to do was pull her against him, tilt his head down, push her chin up, he could give her what she wanted, what they _both_ wanted….

This time, Daphne’s voice interrupted. “Draco! Ginny! Food’s here!”

Ginny immediately pulled her gaze away and pushed herself off the wall with her legs to swim toward the ladder, leaving Draco too warm and irritated with Daphne.

He sighed and followed her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, I can't believe I updated this thing in less than three weeks!! I wouldn't get used to this update speed. ;) But keep your fingers crossed! Maybe the next update will be speedy, too!
> 
> So when I originally wrote this story for the exchange, back in November/December 2014 and January 2015, I had this idea that Ginny had a magical tattoo that she was embarrassed about. I'd thought I had come up with such a clever, original idea: a Snitch tattoo that flies around her body! Harry looking for and catching her Snitch! I didn't have time to include the tattoo in my exchange fic, and after I submitted the story, I saw posts on Tumblr describing my exact super clever, super unique idea. I was a bit disappointed that I wasn't the first to think of it, but that just goes to show how creative and clever Harry Potter fans are. ;) I'm really glad I was able to use the tattoo. It was just too good of an idea to waste!
> 
> So next chapter we go back to Ginny's POV for part THREE of this pool party! I am pretty sure one more chapter will suffice to wrap it up, and then we're on to the dreaded trip to Paris. *dun dun DUUUNNN*
> 
> You guys, this chapter though.


	12. A Pool Party (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL. Tomorrow is The Dating Charade's first birthday! AHHHH. A whole year of TDC, can you believe it?? What better way to celebrate than to reward you guys with the longest chapter I have ever written IN MY LIFE. This chapter is dedicated to a guest reviewer on FFN, who pointed out the anniversary of TDC was coming soon and demanded three new chapters as a reward for reading. GUESS WHAT. YOU GOT 'EM.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading this story, for making this such a fun writing experience. I honestly haven't enjoyed writing or POSTING a story this much since my very first fan fic, Diary of a Songbird. And that's because of all of you who read, favorite, review, and leave kudos. You are wonderful.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this ridiculously long chapter, and let me know what you think!

_Well, that was convenient_ , Ginny thought with a mixed reaction of bitterness and relief towards Daphne’s interruption. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Daphne had carefully timed her announcement to inconvenience Draco and Ginny the most, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank the woman or hex her for putting a stop to what might have turned into a kiss if they’d just been left alone. 

Her heart thundered as she climbed out of the pool, so loud she was certain everyone inside the glass walls could hear it. An imprint of Draco’s hand was scorched into her lower back, the place where every one of his fingertips had made contact with her skin burning as if he’d branded her. Stinging like a fresh tattoo.

It never occurred to her to shy away from his touch. If Jason Junker had touched her in such a way and in such a place, she would have punched the slimy git. If a stranger or an acquaintance had put his hands on her bare skin, she would have dodged their hands. And yet, Draco Malfoy’s touch left her body trembling, craving more. _Draco Malfoy_. Bigot. School bully. Snobby daddy’s boy. Death Eater.

But he wasn’t those things anymore, was he? She hadn’t heard him insult any of her friends since they’d been together. Hadn’t heard a word from his lips against Muggles or Muggle-borns. He hadn’t said the words “my father,” either. He still wore the Dark Mark—of course he did—but he’d appeared ashamed of it when Ginny had brought attention to it.

Could his behavior be an act like the one they were performing now? Ginny didn’t think so, and perhaps that made her foolish. It wasn’t like him (or what she knew of him) to censor himself in front of anyone except people who had authority over him, so she didn’t think it was likely that he had simply refrained from voicing hateful thoughts when he was with her.

Perhaps Ginny was biased and blinded by what he’d done for her over the last few weeks, but why would he jeopardize his personal charade to help her? He had no reason to support her or comfort her, and yet he continued to remind her when she needed it most that they were a team. That, together, they would overcome whatever obstacles were thrown their way.

And yet…. A niggling doubt pierced her reverie as she remembered how he had pulled away from her for nearly two weeks. Astoria’s assertion that Draco cared for no one but himself wiggled through the hole her doubt had created, widening it, shaking her confidence.

What was the truth? Who was Draco Malfoy?

A picnic table laden with food had been arranged at the far end of the pool, overflowing with sandwiches of every imaginable kind, vegetables to complement the sandwiches or for salads, an assortment of fruit, potatoes (mashed or crisps), three different kinds of beverages (lemonade, water, and tea), as well as a bottle each of red and white wine.

Theodore, Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria crowded around the table, filling delicate plates that looked better suited for a formal dinner than an outdoor, poolside picnic. Ginny approached Harry, who hung back, eying the food as he waited his turn.

“Having fun?” Harry asked with a grin.

He looked tired but happy, much more content and comfortable in present company than Ginny was. It suddenly dawned on Ginny that this was not the first time Harry had spent time with Daphne, Pansy, and Theodore. She should have realized sooner from the absence of insults thrown his way, the lack of derision from Pansy. Perhaps Astoria’s family and friends had known about her relationship with Harry a lot longer than Ginny’s family had. In fact, as far as Ginny was aware, her family still didn’t know Harry had a girlfriend. He had confided in her alone.

“Surprisingly yes,” Ginny answered, her thoughts drifting to the memory of Draco’s hot hand covering her tattoo.

_Isn’t it convenient that I played Seeker, too?_

A pleasurable, body-wracking shiver that she couldn’t conceal raced through her spine, her limbs. _Yes. Yes it is convenient,_ she thought.

“Cold?” Harry asked, his sleepy grin transforming into one of amusement.

He made a move as if to wrap his arms around her to warm her, a gesture he had performed often during the course of their relationship and after their breakup. A gesture that meant nothing except that Harry cared about a friend’s’ well-being, but she knew how such a gesture could be misconstrued.

Ginny dodged his advance, wary of Astoria only a few feet away. “I’m fine,” she said, smiling to cool the sting of her rejection. “I’ll go grab my towel in a minute. Besides, we really shouldn’t be seen too close together.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “Why not?”

“Astoria doesn’t like it.”

“What do you mean?”

Ginny, in the middle of turning away to retrieve her towel from the chair on which she’d dropped it earlier, paused and turned back around to fully analyze Harry’s expression.

He didn’t know. Bless Harry Potter’s naive, innocent little heart. He truly didn’t know.

“Astoria doesn’t like that we’re still friends, Harry. She doesn’t like me being anywhere near you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he replied with a snort. “Astoria doesn’t—” Comprehension dawned and his eyes widened, his gaze darting over to Astoria, laughing with Pansy over a bowl of mixed greens, before returning to Ginny. “That’s what you two had an argument about, isn’t it? She wouldn’t tell me.”

“She cares about you. I think she’s more concerned that I’m overprotective of you than she is that you would ever leave her for me again.”

Harry didn’t answer, too stunned by the revelation to form words.

In the silence, Draco came up beside Ginny, a towel wrapped around his shoulders (to Ginny’s immediate disappointment) and another in his hand.

“Thought you’d need this,” he said, as he draped what Ginny now recognized as her own towel around her, tucking the corners in in the front to properly cover her.

Ginny stared, first at the towel and then at him, bemused and surprised by his kindness. “Thank you!” She winced as the words came out with more enthusiasm than she intended.

Draco’s expression warmed his face in a way Ginny had never seen on him before. Much like Harry’s sleepy grin earlier, Draco seemed to be the embodiment of content. Relaxed.

He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed her fingers until she grasped him back, and once again, Ginny—shocked by his boldness, shocked by his tenderness—wondered who this man really was and what did he really want from her? 

Harry looked at them, his gaze scrutinizing, as though he had something to say. He seemed to reconsider his next statement and sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” A new smile stretched across his lips as he joined Astoria to poke her in her side, prompting her to jump away from him and laugh.

Astoria was so different with Harry than she was with Draco or Ginny. Could Draco be the same way? She looked up at the man in question—the man who _was_ a question—only to find him looking back at her. He looked away as soon as she caught him.

“I’ve got the wine!” Daphne announced as she grabbed a bottle of the red wine and carried her plate over to a patio area where an iron fire pit sat, surrounded by cushioned deck chairs. A fire instantly sprang to life as Daphne took a seat, crackling and spitting as if it had been roaring for hours instead of mere seconds.

Pansy and Theodore joined her a moment later, but claimed chairs on the opposite side of the firepit, as far away from Daphne as possible. It was only then that Ginny realized that she hadn’t seen Pansy or Daphne say a single word to each other since she’d arrived, though both women had interacted with Astoria, Harry, Ginny, and Draco in some fashion.

“Why is Pansy here if she and Daphne don’t get along?” she asked aloud.

“They do get along,” Draco said, confusion in his voice.

“They don’t though,” she insisted. “Look at them. They haven’t spoken a word to each other all afternoon.”

Draco did look, squinting as he peered through the gathering darkness. As he observed, torches surrounding the pool came to life as instantly as the firepit had, shining flickering light on the stone tiles underfoot.

“Huh,” Draco finally said. “I’d never noticed. I usually don’t spend time with Daphne, so I haven’t seen her with Pansy in years.”

They approached the food table now that Harry and Astoria were finishing up, and Ginny, who hadn’t realized how hungry she was until this moment, stared down at all the food, unable to decide where to start.

“I guess… that would explain Astoria’s reaction to you,” Draco said in a musing tone.

Distracted, Ginny looked up from the sandwich she’d just grabbed. “What do you mean?”

“Pansy and Daphne broke off their relationship when Pansy and Theo became engaged three years ago. If they still can’t be friends after that, then it’s no wonder Astoria hates the idea of you and Potter trying to stay friends.”

“But Harry and I aren’t Daphne and Pansy!”

Draco shrugged. “Might as well be. Maybe she wonders why you would ever give up Saint Potter. She might think you’ll come to your senses one day and beg him back.”

“I wouldn’t though!” Ginny said in agitation. “Maybe _you’re_ the one thinking that!”

The look in his eyes penetrated her, paralyzed her. “What if I am?”

“Why would you care?”

They held each other’s gazes, the sandwich Ginny had picked up still sitting in her hand, never having made it to her plate.

“I wouldn’t care,” he finally said, turning back to the table and picking up a pair of tongs to serve himself from the bowl of mixed greens. “I’d judge you for your bad taste, though.”

“UGGHH. I’m tired of people assuming that Harry and I will get back together. Honestly, he’s like one of my brothers! To suggest that I would ever go back to being interested in him is disgusting.”

Draco’s face crumpled in distaste, but it looked like he was on the verge of laughter. Maybe. “What’s disgusting is the idea of you dating one of your brothers.”

Ginny’s cheeks warmed. She’d never admitted this to anyone before because she knew exactly how it sounded. Like an excuse, but also kind of gross. “It was a very confusing time for me, okay? I was relieved when Harry admitted that he felt the same for me. I don’t know why our relationship changed. After the war, there just wasn’t anything left to keep us going.”

She thought about a comment Jason Junker had made to her months ago, the comment that made her realize that Junker was unabashedly perverted. He’d insinuated that Ginny was too beautiful for anyone to resist—not even her brothers. The comment alone had filled her with mortification, but, at night, when she was home alone and she’d allowed her mind to recall what he’d said, she hadn’t been able to help but remember the end of her relationship with Harry, when every kiss had unsettled her and every ‘I love you’ had felt platonic. The strangeness she’d felt then had been multiplied by six with Junker’s gross accusation.

She distracted herself again by filling her plate with the first bits of food she set her eyes on, unaware of what she added to the pile but piling on more to give herself something to do.

Draco’s voice, when he spoke again, was so soft, Ginny almost missed it from the end of the table.

“I might know what that feels like. When people push you about a relationship you don’t want.”

He picked over the platter of fruit, examining each piece carefully before deciding which would join his plate.

“You mean your mother pushing you to marry?” she asked, her voice low to match his.

He nodded at a grape. Then he glanced over at her. “Even before that. Back at Hogwarts, Pansy and Daphne pushed their feelings onto me. They might not have seen it that way, but the other guys in Slytherin, the ones in my year and the sixth and seventh years who were even worse, they all knew how girls fawned over me. They were jealous and they teased me about the attention. Did I want to fuck any of them? Couldn’t I throw one of them a bone? They explained in detail what they would do if so many girls were interested in them. Stuff I’d heard around the dormitories all the time and hadn’t thought anything about until suddenly they were directing their talk at me. It made me sick because I didn’t want any of that, and telling anyone I didn’t want it was met with disbelief.”

Draco looked down at the table, the task of selecting fruit forgotten.

“So I kept quiet. I did my best to tune out the things they said when they noticed Daphne staring at me for too long or Pansy laughing extra loudly at something I said or when Tracey volunteered to”—Draco cringed—“polish my broomstick.”

All Ginny could do was stare at Draco as he revealed these secrets to her. Even if he’d asked her a question, she wouldn’t have been able to articulate a single thought. She listened and she absorbed and she learned more about Draco Malfoy in these few minutes than she’d known about him her whole life.

Now he lifted the tongs again and shrugged, but Ginny wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance. There was tension in the stiff way he held his shoulders. His grip on the tongs was choking, his fingers white from the pressure. “So I snapped when Pansy and Daphne told me that they liked me. I was cruel to them because I had had enough. It wasn’t their fault, but I didn’t want anything to do with them. Not in a romantic way or in a sexual way. Not in any way my male Housemates expected of me.”

“Draco,” Ginny said, her mouth suddenly dry, her voice shaky in her uncertainty as to the wisdom of speaking her next words, “your Housemates sexually harassed you.”

“What?” His expression, dark and thoughtful before, now displayed his disbelief. “No they didn’t. They didn’t do anything to me.”

“They didn’t have to touch you. They verbally harassed you in a sexual nature so frequently and so severely, they created a hostile environment for you. That’s the textbook definition of sexual harassment.”

“What are you, some kind of expert?” he spat, and though he had been angered by what she’d said, as soon as he spoke he looked apologetic.

“Yes,” she replied, refusing to back down from this now that she’d thrown the information out there into the world, for him to hear, to digest, to understand. “I did research on my own situation. I was confused and angry; I thought I’d done something to deserve Jason’s attention. Would you know, there’s more discourse in the Muggle world about sexual harassment than there is in ours? Court cases, regulations, training, all sorts of things to prevent this from happening in the workplace, and you experienced it at Hogwarts.”

She thought he would argue with her, continue to deny her allegation, insult her intelligence, _something_. Instead… no, instead he looked at her, his eyes wide in shock.

“ _That’s_ sexual harassment?”

She nodded. “From what you’ve told me about your situation, yes.”

He looked at her with new appreciation and dawning horror. “If what I experienced was only half as bad as what you’ve gone through with Junker, I don’t know how you haven’t gone off the deep end yet.”

Her eyes stung as if they wanted to fill with moisture, and she was glad when they remained dry. She approached Draco, placing her free hand on his arm, squeezing and wishing she could more effectively express her gratitude. Hermione had sympathized with the seriousness of Ginny’s situation, but Draco really _understood_ her now. He’d been through the same. Something similar anyway.

“Lucky for me, I’ve got someone on my side.”

“Lucky for you that someone is me.”

Just yesterday she would have interpreted such a statement as conceit or even a comment meant to make her laugh, but Draco was serious, as evident from the down-turned corners of his lips to the crease in his brow to the stormy look in his eyes.

For the first time since their ruse had begun, Ginny _did_ feel lucky to have Draco. Oh, she had always been grateful for his help. Without him pretending to be her boyfriend, she never would have had the reprieve from Junker’s attention that she had enjoyed for the last few weeks. But this was the first night that Ginny was grateful to have Draco specifically in her corner. Before, she’d thought anyone could have done what Draco had. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time; he’d suffered from being the unlucky bastard Ginny had set eyes (and lips) on first. Now she understood just how lucky she was to have him on her team.

She tried to imagine going through this ruse with Harry or a complete stranger or someone as annoying or as persistent as Junker. The wrong partner could have made her awful situation infinitely worse.

Ginny had only felt this lucky a few times in her life.

“I don’t know about you,” she said with a smile, “but we need alcohol.”

“Oh God. Music to my ears.”

She grabbed the bottle of white wine while he grabbed the wine glasses, and then they made their way to the patio to join everyone else.

They were met with a chorus of “Finally!” and “It’s about time!” and too many wiggling eyebrows of innuendo. As she and Draco took a seat on a two-person wicker deck chair, her cheeks heated at the sight of Pansy and Daphne’s smirk, Astoria’s snicker, and Harry’s obvious discomfort. Ginny and Draco had been in plain view the whole time, so if they _had_ done something naughty, the others would have known, but that didn’t stop them from trying to embarrass Ginny and Draco anyway.

Ginny placed her plate in her lap and Draco held out both wine glasses while she poured, and her cheeks reddened even further when he met her eyes. The heat from the fire was lovely against her skin, but it reminded her of Draco’s hands on her, burning her. It reminded her of her uncomfortably hot dreams, and Ginny nearly dropped the wine bottle as she recalled the heat she felt when she touched herself at the thought of him.

She didn’t spill the wine, and if anyone noticed her reaction, they said nothing. She put the bottle on the side table that sat between her and Daphne’s chair and gratefully accepted one of the glasses from Draco.

They clinked their glasses together, sharing a small smile as they did so, before taking generous sips.

“Are you two always this gross together?” Pansy asked as she waved a fork in their direction. “You act like you’re the only two people in any given room.”

“We do?” Ginny asked, unnerved by all the nodding that accompanied her question. Even Harry seemed to agree with Pansy, which was honestly embarrassing considering how obtuse Harry could be sometimes.

“Like two honest-to-God lovebirds. It’s disturbing.”

Ginny suddenly remembered that Pansy _knew_ Draco and Ginny were just pretending and tensed at the thought that she could out them at any moment. If Daphne realized their relationship wasn’t real, the world wouldn’t end. Ginny could probably convince her to keep their secret. But Astoria only tolerated Ginny because she thought she was head over heels for Draco, and if _Harry_ found out, he would want to understand why she’d put herself through this mess. If he ever found out about Junker, she knew he would go to Hell and back to make sure Jason Junker was punished or fired, and that wasn’t the kind of attention Ginny wanted at the moment. Even if justice was served, there was no guarantee Ginny wouldn’t receive backlash at work for speaking out, even if Harry was the one who blew the whistle on her supervisor for her.

Her grip on the stem of her wine glass tightened, and then Draco reached between them to take her other hand in his, his fingers warm and strong just like they’d been earlier after he’d brought her her towel. Just like they’d been when he’d pressed them against her tattoo.

“It’s better to show affection to your partner than make it look like you can’t stand one another, don’t you think?”

Pansy frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing at all,” Draco replied, his tone airy even though his eyes were steel. “What’s wrong with showing affection? Or giving any?”

“You think I’m not affectionate?” Her voice rose to a strident pitch in her growing anger. Then she turned to Theodore, who poked at the remains of a salad on his plate with disinterest. “Do you agree with him?”

“I know you,” he said.

“That’s not an answer!”

Theodore shrugged. “We don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I’m just trying to be considerate of other people’s feelings.”

“Oh, is that what that is?” Draco asked with a sneer. He lifted his wine to his lips and gulped. “When you act like you can’t stand your husband in public, whose feelings are you sparing exactly?”

Ginny wanted to avert her eyes as Pansy’s own darted between everyone, giving her the appearance of an animal backed into a corner.

 _“Draco, stop it,”_ Theodore said with more severity than Ginny had ever heard in his voice. He placed a hand on Pansy’s arm only for her to yank it out of his grasp.

“Why? If she wants to comment on my relationship, why can’t I comment on hers?”

“It’s Daphne, okay! I’m trying to spare Daphne!” Pansy interrupted.

Silence reigned as her wide eyes filled with tears, and Daphne, who had merely observed with a neutral expression until now, leaned forward and shattered it. “Me?”

“Yes,” Pansy said with a seething hiss. “I didn’t want to hurt you by waving my husband around in front of you.”

Daphne stared, they all stared, at Pansy as she averted her gaze and blinked hard to prevent her tears from falling.

“That was years ago, Pansy,” she said, her voice soft.

“You never moved on to someone else. I just assumed….”

“It’s not easy for me, you know? My parents have their expectations and I can’t fulfill them as easily as you fulfilled yours.”

“You think it was easy for me to give you up?”

Draco and Astoria’s attention was glued to the proceedings, Draco watching Pansy carefully while Astoria observed her sister. Harry, Ginny noticed, was like her and clearly felt like an intruder. They shrugged at each other and then quickly looked away, both trying to pretend neither one was present for this conversation, but both listening intently anyway.

Ginny felt rather sorry for Theodore. As uncomfortable as she felt stuck in the middle of such an intimate discussion, at least _she_ wasn’t married to one of the people participating in said discussion.

“I just meant,” Daphne said with a sigh, “that you have the luxury of having a relationship that can pass as straight. I could force myself to marry a man, but there’s only so long I would be able to pretend.” Her fists clenched on the arm of her chair. “And I resent you treating me like glass just because you thought I couldn’t handle seeing you with a husband. You wouldn’t have even thought of Theodore if it wasn’t for me! How much more approval do you need? Honestly, all this time, I’d thought you were unhappy.”

Once again, silence descended as everyone looked at Pansy, who bit her lip and stared at her lap. This time when Theodore reached for her hand, she didn’t shrug away from his touch, but she also didn’t reciprocate his gesture.

Draco began to fidget in the awkward silence. They all did. And Ginny got the impression that these sorts of confessions were uncommon between this group of friends—perhaps even uncommon among Slytherins in general or their social caste.

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Draco?” Astoria finally said, seething with the same aggression she’d displayed when she’d warned Ginny about Draco earlier.

“Like you have room to talk,” Draco replied, quick to deflect Astoria’s ire.

“And what is that supposed to mean? I am blameless in this situation!” 

“In this one, maybe, but you’re so threatened by Ginny, you don’t even trust your boyfriend to be alone with her.”

The blood drained out of Astoria’s face, and Harry sat up straighter with a warning, “Hey!”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Draco continued, stretching his arms out to encompass all seven people sitting around the fire, which continued to illuminate their circle as if shadows had not descended upon them. “This little get together is your way of showing Potter that you and Ginny can get along, but you haven’t proven you can yet because you’ve been glaring at her all evening.”

Astoria laughed without humor. “How would you even know what I’ve been up to if you can’t keep your eyes off her? You act like she’s the only person worthy of your attention!”

“Maybe that’s because she’s the only one who doesn’t continue to hold a grudge against me!”

“Is that what you think?” Pansy asked. “You think we’re still punishing you for something?”

“What are we punishing you for?” Daphne added.

The heat seemed to leave Draco as his body stiffened further, and Ginny could see the indecision in his eyes, unsure of how to answer or if he should answer at all. She wasn’t sure if he would welcome a reminder of her presence here. So far, she seemed to have been forgotten, but it went against her every instinct to ignore him when he was so conflicted, especially after his silent support of her.

He’d given her space and a dueling dummy on which she could take out her anger, followed by coffee and a bagel. He’d handled himself with aplomb during lunch at the Burrow when he could have made the situation more uncomfortable than it already was. Just this afternoon, he’d discovered her in the beginning stages of a panic attack and offered her his assistance, his support, and, when she had refused those, his solid presence. He’d given generously when he’d had no need to, so she followed her instincts and copied what he’d done to her in the pool. She slipped a hand behind his back, under the towel draped around his shoulders, and pressed her hand against the damp skin above the waistband of his trunks.

She felt the instant goosebumps popped up along his back, and when he looked at her with momentary confusion, she shrugged a little, just for him. The intensity of his gaze increased until he looked away to address his interrogators, determined.

“Everything,” he answered. “Starting with my rejection of both of you.”

Both Pansy and Daphne shared a look of surprise.

“We were just kids,” Pansy said.

Daphne shook her head in exasperation. “We’ve forgotten it.”

“Well, _I_ haven’t,” Astoria interjected.

Daphne cut a silencing glance at her sister, her expression forbidding. “It was never any of your business in the first place, Astoria.”

“What happened afterwards was my business. What happens to our family _is_ my business!”

“You mean me coming to terms with my sexuality?” Astoria’s eyes widened as if the answer was obvious and Daphne was being purposefully obtuse. And Daphne’s annoyance grew to a simmering anger. “You will never forgive me for being a lesbian, will you?”

“I do forgive you, Daphne. I’ll never forgive _him_ ”—she pointed aggressively in Draco’s direction—“for forcing you to realize it!”

Daphne stared at her sister, an array of emotions passing across her face before settling on disgust. “I don’t need anyone’s forgiveness, least of all _yours_. You’re my sister. I thought you supported me.”

Astoria looked taken aback, not understanding how she seemed to have misstepped. “I do support you. But how will you ever marry? How will you support yourself? Mum and dad would never accept—”

“That’s why I needed _you_ to accept me,” Daphne seethed.

Stunned by Daphne’s reaction, Astoria sat back, the anger, as well as her words, draining out of her.

Pansy turned back to Draco, hesitant and wary. Like someone trying to soothe a cornered beast. “If we ever gave you the impression that we were holding a grudge against you, Draco…” She glanced at Daphne, whose arms were crossed over her chest in irritation but still nodded in assent, giving Pansy permission to speak for her. “We never intended to punish you, whatever happened between us years ago.”

The strain in Draco’s jaw as he clenched his teeth together didn’t ease, even as he replied. “Stop calling me pathetic.”

A scoffing sound came from Astoria’s direction, but she went ignored.

Pansy’s eyes widened. “I thought that’s what we did. We poked each other. Our relationship has always been like that, ever since….”

Draco averted his gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the attention laid upon him as he opened himself up to scrutiny, and Ginny did move her hand then. Gently, she stroked his skin, running her fingertips over the goosebumps that tightened his flesh, reassuring him, comforting him, because what else could she do?

“Things changed after the war. I don’t like it anymore.”

Without missing a beat, Pansy lowered her head and said, “I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. I hadn’t realized I was hurting you—any of you.” She turned her hand over to grasp Theodore’s fingers in hers, not only including her husband in her apology, but Daphne as well.

The energy of the conversation dwindled, taking the tension with it, leaving Ginny feeling colder than before despite the flames rising up from the iron bowl in the middle of their circle. She was afraid to draw attention to herself, unsure how the group would react to a reminder of her presence. Even at Hogwarts, she had known that the Slytherins were an exclusive, private clique. She’d never imagined the kinds of issues they might have had with each other because they’d stood as a united front against the other Houses. The insight she’d just received tonight was morbidly fascinating, but also forbidden.

Harry broke the silence with a murmured, “I think we need to talk,” to Astoria, who stared at his set expression with wide, fearful eyes. The fire’s reflection in his glasses gave him an ominous appearance that seemed to spell death, and Ginny felt a flaring of pity for Astoria. She hoped Harry would hear her out; she hoped they could make their relationship work. She knew they would, because Harry was nothing if not determined. They would discuss the accusations against Astoria that he had heard from two different people, and he would understand better than anyone else could.

As the couple rose from their chair to seek privacy, Ginny finally picked up her glass of wine and took a large swig, returning her attention to the food sitting forgotten in her lap. She had never looked forward to eating a sandwich as much as she did right now.

Daphne, Pansy, and Theodore maintained a thoughtful silence, though Pansy shared imploring looks with Theodore that Ginny imagined only he could decipher.

As she removed her hand from Draco’s back, he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” The tension still hadn’t left his voice or his body. The confrontation between the friends seemed to have left him flayed open, the emotional wounds still oozing.

She looked up at him as she chewed, and it took him a few quiet moments, but he finally met her curious gaze.

“You mentioned once that you were possessed by the soul of an evil sixteen-year-old.”

Ginny’s breath escaped her lungs as if she’d just been punched in the gut, and she was aware, distantly, of Daphne, Pansy, and Theodore’s attention turning to her as his words pierced the crackling darkness.

“That’s not a question,” she said in a near-whisper, her voice low because she still had no breath left to make it any louder.

“Tell me,” he demanded, and Ginny suddenly realized what this was, what he was doing.

He felt vulnerable, and the only way he could combat that feeling was if he made her vulnerable, too. All his friends had been ripped open by their secrets, even Harry had been put in an uncomfortable place with the revelation of Astoria’s dislike of Ginny. But Ginny was still unscathed, and he wanted her to bleed with him, to feel as low and raw as he did.

“That’s not a question, either,” she said as she stabbed a strawberry with her fork. “I thought your father had already told you about it though.”

That shocked all four of them enough to make them jump, even Theodore who never reacted to anything, always taking everything in stride, as if nothing could surprise him.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “What does my father have to do with it?”

Ginny’s mouth ran dry, and she moved the plate of barely-touched food to the table next to her chair, trading it for her wine glass. Daphne courteously topped her off, and Ginny gave her a tight smile in thanks.

She was glad Harry had left with Astoria. She could imagine his outrage on her behalf at Draco demanding such a thing from her, and she didn’t know if she could explain properly with him there. It didn’t occur to her to refuse him; she _was_ the one who’d brought up the incident to him weeks ago.

“I thought you knew,” she said again, staring into the fire because she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Your father is the reason the Chamber of Secrets opened.”

“I know _that_ much. He wouldn’t tell me anything about the plan, though.”

Ginny took a deep breath, and although she wanted to, she didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she invented shapes in the twisting flames, phoenixes taking flight, faces contorted in agony, anything to keep herself from watching the reactions of the people around her.

“Your father is the reason the Chamber opened… but I’m the one who opened it.”

The silence spanned so long, Ginny finally did look up, and instead of shock, she was met with dubious stares. For some reason, the fact they didn’t believe her triggered laughter to spill from her lips.

“Very funny,” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes.

“What’s funny is that I am 100 percent serious,” she replied, giggling over her wine as she attempted another drink. “Lucius Malfoy slipped a diary amongst my things during an encounter at Diagon Alley the summer before my first year at Hogwarts. He was trying to get rid of it because Malfoy Manor was on a list of homes to be raided for Dark artifacts. My dad was leading the raids.”

“What’s so special about a diary?” Daphne asked.

“This one belonged to a teenaged boy named Tom Riddle, who grew up to become Voldemort.” The shock Ginny had originally expected finally actualized, thick enough in the air she could slice it with a knife. “Voldemort hid a piece of his soul inside the diary when he began to seek immortality, and as I wrote in the diary over the course of the year, Tom Riddle wrote back. The more I wrote, the more I bared my soul to Tom, the deeper the hold he claimed on me, until he became strong enough to use me.”

Her voice lowered once again, the humor of the story and the situation gone. “I opened the Chamber of Secrets, I controlled Slytherin’s monster, and I wrote those messages on the walls. The Basilisk didn’t kidnap me. I went into the Chamber of Secrets under Tom’s control to wait for him to take the rest of my soul, to kill me and bring his memory back to life.”

“ _You_ were the Heir of Slytherin?” Pansy asked with no small amount of disbelief.

“No, not me,” Ginny answered, finally looking up from the flames. “Voldemort is the Heir, but lacking a body of his own, he used mine.” A shiver cascaded down her spine, and then she couldn’t stop trembling. The heat of the fire could not penetrate the bone-chilling cold that suddenly encompassed her, so she drank more wine, hoping to warm herself from within.

“And then Potter saved you,” Draco said, disapproval dripping from his words.

“Yes,” Ginny replied without elaborating on what exactly Harry had done for her that night.

“And my father knew,” he continued.

“I assume so. He met with Professor Dumbledore shortly after I was rescued. He knew what he was doing when he gave me that diary, but whether or not he realized I would have lost my life? I don’t know.”

Draco’s lips puckered in troubled thought. “I don’t either. He didn’t tell me any of this.” He slowly became aware of Ginny shivering beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side.

It should have shocked her. Maybe it should have unnerved her—and it did in a sense. Draco had never been this physical with her before, and she wasn’t sure what had changed to embolden him. Perhaps he simply recognized that today she needed the solidarity of his presence more than any other day in their relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t fully aware of his own actions. Ever since yesterday, when Ginny had confronted him about distancing himself from her, he had become more present in their charade than ever, and Ginny didn’t understand it, but she wasn’t about to question it. It felt so good to be this close to someone again, to not cringe away whenever someone drew too near or brushed against her accidentally.

As good as it felt to be in his arms, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head.

She drained the rest of her wine, suddenly remembering—and attempting to forget—that she would be going to Paris with Junker in less than twenty-four hours. For the next few days, she wouldn’t be able to feel as comfortable as she did at the current moment. 

The sun had finally set during the course of the earlier confrontation, and Ginny followed the line of smoke from the fire up, up, up until she was gazing at the gymnasium ceiling, high above their heads. The roof was made of the same glass panes as the walls, which meant that stars were clearly visible.

Draco’s fingers brushed against her side absently, backwards and forwards as he fed himself with his non-dominant hand from the plate balanced in his lap. His shoulder was warm against her cheek. If she let herself, she could drift off to sleep, lulled by the starlight, the crackling flames, Draco’s heat. She didn’t care what Pansy had to say about her fake relationship with Draco, didn’t care that all evening she _had_ been fairly intimate with him in a way she’d never anticipated. If someone had told her several weeks ago that she would be snuggled up against Draco Malfoy in front of a fire at the home of the Greengrass sisters as they pretended to be significant to each other, she would have laughed for a century. Now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Too natural.

“Let’s go for a swim again,” Ginny said suddenly. She lifted her head and looked around, at Daphne, at Pansy and Theodore, at Draco, all of whom arched one eyebrow in unison like automatons programmed to perform the same functions.

“It’s barely, what, six o’clock? The party’s not over yet. Let’s put out the lights and swim and look at the stars.”

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Draco said.

Ginny stood up and pulled on his hand, forcing him to rise with her. “I’ll eat later. Or I’ll take a plate to go.”

Pansy, Daphne, and, yes, even Theodore, exchanged smiles, infected by excitement at Ginny’s suggestion. Or perhaps they were grateful for an excuse to leave the fire and the unpleasantness that had occurred around it, which seemed the most likely reason for their growing enthusiasm.

Daphne extinguished the flames of the fire pit and the torches with a wave of her wand, leaving only the milky light of the stars to guide them as she, her ex-girlfriend, and her ex-girlfriend’s husband wove their way around the chairs to the edge of the pool.

The alcohol Ginny had consumed had gone straight to her head as soon as she’d stood up, and the lack of food in her belly did nothing to quell the dizzy spell that overcame her. But Draco was there right next to her, his hand tight around her upper arm, his other hand just touching her waist. They pulled their towels off each other’s shoulders, and Ginny’s breath caught. A shiver traced her spine, goosebumps spreading with a sensation not unlike the wings of a Snitch fluttering against her skin. In the darkness, she couldn’t see Draco’s expression, but she let herself imagine it, and what she saw there made her feel warm all over, growing warmer every second.

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew that something had passed between them, a frisson of intimacy that had draped over them as soon as they’d removed the towels, cocooning them in a world of their own. In a moment of self-awareness, she realized that Pansy had been right earlier. If anyone else was in the vicinity, Draco and Ginny wouldn’t have known. They were too wrapped up in each other.

“Am I going to have to keep an eye on you so you don’t drown?” Draco asked in amusement, his voice low and musical to Ginny’s ears.

She smiled even though she doubted he could see her. “Your hands would be more than sufficient.”

That frisson of intimacy exploded from a spark to a flame, and Ginny didn’t think she was imagining it. Hidden in shadow and more than a little drunk, Ginny’s words emboldened her, and she let his towel drop to the ground as she reached for his hands. Her towel joined his a moment later.

“Here.” She placed both of his hands on either side of her hips, at the waistband of her low-rise bikini bottoms.

His fingers dug into her so deliciously, and he pulled her closer to him, his head lowered. “Like this?” he asked, his breath harsh as if he’d forgotten how to release air from his lungs.

“Just like that,” she replied, her own hands sliding up his bare chest to wrap around his neck. “Just like this,” she said against his lips, just before they crashed against hers.

He tasted like wine and fruit and her nostrils filled with the scent of pool water, which wasn’t unpleasant when it came from his skin. Everywhere their bodies touched, she burned, so hot she wouldn’t have been surprised to find burn marks on her body from his hands, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. But then she began to burn from within as his lips caressed hers in desperation, like an alcoholic gulping down a forbidden drink, like Persephone eating that cursed pomegranate seed. Like a man facing temptation and giving into it.

His hands slid around her from her hips to her back, flush against her tattoo and the span of skin above it, his fingers digging into her as if he couldn’t hold her tight enough.

 _150 points to Slytherin,_ she thought with a giggle that bubbled up and out, until she was laughing against his lips, causing him to stop in confusion.

“What is the point of having rules if we’re going to break them?” she asked, searching the impenetrable darkness for his eyes. The shadows were too dense to pierce, the light from the stars not quite bright enough to reveal his face to her. Perhaps it was better this way, though. If she couldn’t see him, it wouldn’t feel real, and she could continue to live in denial that she had desires or that Draco Malfoy was the one she wanted to satiate those desires.

“Because breaking rules is more fun than following them,” he replied, his breath grazing the shell of her ear and sending a new wave of heat and goosebumps throughout her body. “How many more rules can we break tonight?”

She pulled his face down to hers for another desperate kiss, but before he could actively participate in the kiss, she was already pulling away. “None. We must behave. Your friends are waiting.”

She shared his disappointment and reached for his hand, entwining her fingers with his as a consolation prize. He squeezed her hand in acceptance without complaint.

Daphne, Theodore, and Pansy were still standing at the edge of the pool, huddling around Daphne’s wand, the tip of which glowed with light. They were joined now by Harry and Astoria, and all five of them looked up as Ginny and Draco approached them hand in hand. This time, no one said a word about their tardiness.

“Astoria has a better idea than swimming,” Pansy said.

Astoria’s lips lifted into a tremulous smile, uncertain of her reception, but Harry had her tucked against his side, so whatever the result of their talk, it must have been positive. All Ginny wanted was for Harry to be happy, and if Astoria was the person who made him happy, how could she deny him that?

“What is it?” Ginny asked.

Encouraged by the lack of animosity in Ginny’s voice, Astoria’s smile became more confident. “If you want stars, we can give you stars.” She pointed at the far end of the gymnasium, at the ceiling above the pool house and tennis court. “There’s a loft over there. It’s perfect for stargazing.”

Six pairs of eyes watched Ginny, waiting for her to voice her approval or disapproval for the idea.

“Excellent. Lead the way,” was all she said.

As they followed Astoria and Daphne to a zigzagging staircase located behind the poolhouse, Ginny figured _this_ was Astoria truly attempting to make amends for the argument they’d had a couple weeks ago and for the ugliness that had revealed itself around the fire pit. The party had been a disingenuous ruse of an apology, put together for Harry’s sake. But humoring Ginny’s whim, bringing her even further into Astoria’s world? That was how a private, protective Slytherin atoned for wrongdoing.

Draco held her hand all the way up the stairs, which was a good thing because they did not feel stable at all. When they broke the line of the trees that surrounded the Greengrass property, Ginny had to stop and stare in awe.

“Keep moving,” Draco muttered. “You can gape when we got to the top.”

Her slack jaw turned into a snicker as she continued to climb, amused by Draco’s discomfort with the stairs. However, the loft was no better than the rickety metal thing from which they’d just ascended, as the floor of the loft was made of the same glass panes as the rest of the gymnasium, giving the impression that they were walking on air. The thought of a twenty-foot drop to the roof of the pool house was not comforting in the slightest.

Daphne conjured several large, puffy cushions and a stack of thick duvets before dousing the light at her wand tip. Above the treetops as they were, the light from the rising moon was now visible and the stars shone brighter than they had down on the ground. Using that light to guide them, everyone gravitated toward a puff, which looked like strange, fluffy balls floating in midair. Blankets were passed around as they settled in. Despite the controlled temperature of the gymnasium, it was significantly cooler in the loft than it had been below.

Ginny automatically sank into a reclining position as she lowered herself onto her cushion, and Draco pulled his own cushion up next to hers, then spread a blanket out to share between them. Under the duvet, her heart hammered against her ribcage as his hand sought out hers, and then, as they all became comfortable, silence descended.

Ginny had never seen a sight this beautiful before. Even at the Burrow, out in the country, the stars never looked this sharp and bright. But they were sitting tens of feet in the air, above the roof of the enormous faux-cabin the Greengrasses called their home, feet above the tallest tree, nothing between them and the universe except glass panes and ozone. The sky stretched above them, impossibly huge and impossibly black, with the stars stretching from end to end as bright as holes punctured in a piece of paper held up to a source of light.

“There’s my constellation,” Draco said, just loud enough for Ginny to hear. He pointed upwards, but Ginny saw it instantly, a constellation ingrained in her head from years of Astronomy lessons.

As a second year at Hogwarts, she hadn’t seen Draco for what it was. When she had looked up at the sky during class, she'd often suffered mild anxiety attacks because she'd seen the Basilisk instead of a dragon. Outside of class, she had avoided looking at the stars as much as possible. It had taken a couple years for Ginny to be able to face the night sky again.

Now, the constellation didn’t phase her. She traced the length of it with her eyes from Rastaban to Eltanin, around the curves of Draco’s twisting body to Thuban and further still to the end of the dragon’s tail. Once she had been able to name all fourteen main stars in the constellation, some of which didn’t have proper names at all. How lonely must it be to be a star without a name? A star important enough to study as a member of an influential constellation, but not important enough to single out and study alone? The nameless stars she had named herself, until her time in the Chamber of Secrets had rid her of any interest in the cosmos.

“Where’s my constellation?” Ginny asked Draco, her own voice low so as not to disturb the others.

“Have you ever heard of a celestial weasel? Honestly. Ancient astronomers had _standards_ , you know.”

“What’s wrong with weasels?”

“Pesky, interfering, vicious creatures. I’d know, all right? I had a traumatizing experience as a ferret once. They’re practically the same animal.”

“ _Practically_ the same, except that weasels are wild and ferrets have been domesticated.”

The moonlight glittered in his eyes as he turned his head to her, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips upwards. “I think you just proved my point.”

She smiled at his teasing until he looked heavenwards once more.

“Besides,” he continued, “constellations are overrated. You shine brightest on your own.”

Ginny held her breath as she tried to examine the side of his face, but he was making a point of not looking at her, focusing too hard on something above them to avoid meeting her gaze.

But he squeezed her hand, once, long and hard, acknowledging her and the fact that he had just said something significant without meaning to. “You don’t need a family of stars to matter. Pick the brightest star in the sky—that’s you.” 

Her amusement drained away as if he’d just punctured her and let the air out. She clamped her lips together to keep them from trembling, but the moisture in her eyes was more difficult to smother. Copying Draco, she looked back up at the sky, her vision blurring even as she blinked as fast as she could to stop the silly tears from falling, but she could still see bright pinpricks of light through her obscured vision, twinkling against their black backdrop.

Constellations were nothing without stars. In fact, constellations didn’t even really exist. They were constructed from the imaginations of mankind.

Ginny couldn’t articulate how his words made her feel because she couldn’t identify the tangle of emotions that swelled within her, heavy against her lungs and her her heart, bursting against her ribs. So she settled for silence.

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

o o o o

They spent the rest of the evening in the loft, floating on what felt like a bed of clouds above the treetops, laughing softly, making conversation with one another, until the temperature dropped too low for their damp, bathing suit-clad bodies to endure.

The trek down the stairs was worse than going up now that Ginny’s toes were numb. Being sober took the adventure out of the climb as well, and she clung onto the railing with one hand and Draco with the other.

When they reached the ground again, Astoria lit the torches around the pool as well as the fire pit with a wave of her wand, and they huddled close to the flames, trying to bring the heat back to their bodies. The pool party was coming to an unspoken end, but they hesitated, trying to milk the evening dry before they all returned to their lonely homes.

Harry drifted close to Ginny, his arms crossed over his chest for warmth, but Astoria didn’t glance at them with suspicion. Instead, she averted her eyes, and Ginny could tell by the tension in her jaw that she was forcing herself not to react, maybe because Ginny was looking at her at that moment.

“Everything all right?” Ginny asked Harry.

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. We talked. I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“You didn’t know she felt that way.”

“I should have, though. I should have realized our friendship post-break up was unusual.”

Ginny rubbed her arms until the goosebumps smoothed out of her skin. “Is she making you choose between us?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose, shocked by the very suggestion. “Nah, nothing like that. But I am going to bring her ‘round to the Burrow soon. You know, finally tell Ron, your parents.”

“Good luck with that,” she said with a snort. “It can’t go any worse than lunch with Draco.”

“Merlin. I hope you’re right. But that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t too bad at all.” Her lips stretched into a small smile.

Silence spread between them, a little heavy as Harry fidgeted. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, clearly reluctant to do so.

“You look good together. You and Malfoy. It’s a little weird—a _lot_ weird—but it seems like a good match.”

“Does it?” she asked, laughing awkwardly.

He shrugged again and lowered his head, uncomfortable with his admission.

“Thank you,” was all Ginny could say in response. Tonight had been such a strange, enlightening, confusing, topsy-turvy experience. She needed some time alone to sort through all that had happened and everything that had been said. That kiss. She and Draco had kissed _again_ , despite Ginny’s assertions that they would never repeat the incident that had begun their fake relationship in the first place, and she couldn’t even bring herself to regret it.

Instead, she wanted more. More kisses, more hand-holding, more star-gazing and teasing. Just more of Draco Malfoy in her life. Because he was actually fun to be around and he made her feel wanted and special. He made her feel needed. Important. Like she mattered, not because she was a Weasley or Harry’s ex-girlfriend, but because she was _Ginny_.

Astoria joined them, and Ginny braced herself for the same tension that had accompanied every conversation she’d had with the woman so far. She was pleasantly surprised when Astoria smiled, not quite with sincerity, but certainly as if she was trying.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Ginny said. “Us, I mean.”

“I would be grateful if we could start our acquaintance over on a clean slate.” The stiffness with with which Astoria spoke would have been comical if the woman didn’t look so uncomfortable. Her rigid spine, as straight as it had been when she’d faced off against Narcissa Malfoy in her sister’s shop, and the upward tilt of her chin made her appear taller, nearly reaching Harry’s height and towering over Ginny. Ginny saw now that Astoria’s pride was her shield against the world. If she displayed more confidence than anyone else, then no one could tear it away and wound her.

Ginny knew all about how to present herself in a way that would prevent anyone from touching her most vulnerable spots. Creating her own armor had been essential to surviving the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets and the war.

She held out her hand, and with the same gravity Astoria employed, she said, “I’m Ginny Weasley.”

Astoria took her hand. Shook it. “Hello, Ginny. I’m Astoria Greengrass. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Wasn’t meeting once enough?” Draco materialized into the circle of light carrying Ginny’s bag and his robes.

Ginny smacked him in the arm even as she took her bag from him. “Leave us alone, will you? We’re attempting to bond.”

“No, it’s too late. The bond is irreparably broken. Thanks a lot, Draco,” Astoria said, her voice full of sarcasm. Harry snickered beside her.

“Laugh it up, Potter. It’s no skin off my back if these two don’t get along. Your back, however? You might want to watch it from here on out.”

With equal sarcasm and an additional roll of his eyes, Harry said, “Thanks for the tip, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled at Ginny. “I aim to serve.”

“Because you’re such a humanitarian.”

Before he could come up with another repartee, Pansy pulled Ginny aside, Theodore, as always, close behind.

“I’m impressed with the way you and Potter have handled yourselves tonight. We’re a tough crowd to be around, as I’m sure you are well aware by now.”

“I’ve started to get that inkling, yes.”

“You’re good for him, you know.”

Ginny shook her head, more in disbelief than denial, but she looked over her shoulder at Draco, who was sneering at something Astoria had just said while Harry laughed. If the history of Harry and Draco’s relationship was anything to go by, they were getting along. Practically buddies already, as civil as they were. The sight of them together was unheard of and unimaginable, but it was a small drop in the bucket of unimaginable things that had happened recently. A Malfoy dating a Weasley; Gryffindors and Slytherins spending time together; her dad standing up for a Malfoy in his own home; a group of aristocratic, snotty friends having heart to hearts around a campfire—these were all impossible scenarios that became possible when Draco agreed to pretend to be her boyfriend. How strange. How extraordinary.

“You know the truth. You know this isn’t serious. We’re not—this isn’t—”

Pansy shrugged, clearly not buying Ginny’s rebuttal. “Whatever you say, but you are. And it is. Say goodnight, Theodore.”

Theodore bent at the waist in a short bow, hand over his heart. “Goodnight. It was a pleasure seeing you again.” His expression never faltered from the unphased, neutral one he always wore, but she knew he wouldn’t have said such a thing if it wasn’t true.

“You too,” Ginny replied, warmed by his farewell.

In a louder voice than she had used so far, Pansy said, “And we _may_ be on friendly terms now, but don’t think for a minute that we’re going to start calling you Your Highness.”

“Why would you do that?” Draco asked, his attention pulled to Ginny’s conversation along with Astoria, Daphne, and Harry’s.

“It’s only the most fitting title for the Heir of Slytherin, isn’t it?”

Flabbergasted splutters could be heard behind Ginny at Pansy’s words, and Ginny herself blanched for a moment before recovering her wits enough to respond.

“I’d prefer to be called Your Grace, Queen Commander of Snakes. But Ginny’s fine.”

It was a difficult thing keeping a straight face in the silence that met her reply, but as soon as Pansy erupted into peals of laughter, she allowed herself to grin.

“I knew I liked you for a reason!” Pansy said with a slap to Ginny’s back. “Draco, you need to keep this one!” Still giggling, she and Theodore wandered off to gather their own belongings, which they’d left in their chairs by the side of the pool earlier that evening.

To Harry, Astoria said, “What is she talking about, Heir of Slytherin?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered in reply.

Ginny took her bag from Draco to collect her robes and boots, which she put on over her bathing suit. Then she cast a warming charm on the material in the hopes that it would keep out the chill long enough for Draco and her to make it to the end of the driveway, where they would be able to Apparate home. She found their discarded towels on the ground near the fire pit, and packed them away in her bag as well. By the time she was done, Draco was next to her, dressed in his robes once again.

“Ready?”

She nodded and took his offered arm.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ginny! Thank you for coming,” Daphne called as they exited the gymnasium.

A blast of December wind took Ginny’s breath away, so she waved in farewell instead of verbally responding.

It wasn’t until they were standing outside the front door of the faux-cottage mansion once again that Ginny finally recovered her breath and her voice, the topic of conversation she had been avoiding all day on the tip of her tongue and too imperative to ignore any longer.

She opened her mouth to speak, to say the words she’d been meaning to say since yesterday....

_I’m going to France with Jason Junker tomorrow. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine. No, please, don’t even think about tagging along. I can handle myself._

She didn’t know if she could handle herself. She honestly didn’t, but she knew she had to try.

Ginny had to do something about Junker, not only so he would stop harassing her, but to prevent him from harassing anyone else ever again. But, also, she had to stop Junker because this relationship she had with Draco couldn’t go on any longer. Over the course of the evening, Ginny had come to the realization that she couldn’t pretend to date Draco, not when it felt all too real. She didn’t want to feel guilty for kissing him. In fact, she wanted to kiss him _more_ , but she couldn’t let herself—she wouldn’t let herself. Not until he _chose_ to be with her. Not as a favor, not out of the goodness of his heart, but because he actually wanted to be with her.

She had to stop Junker. She had to stop this charade. Because more than anything else on her short list of desires, she realized she wanted to give a relationship with Draco a chance.

So she closed her mouth, determined to get through this trip with Junker, determined to figure out how to make him see that his behavior was wrong and unwanted, determined to do it all on her own.

So that the dating charade could finally end.

Draco smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter is partially inspired by a season three episode of Avatar: the Last Airbender called The Beach, where Zuko, his sister Azula, his girlfriend Mai, and their friend Ty Lee embrace uncomfortable truths about themselves while vacationing at a beach and sitting around a fire.
> 
> 2\. The puffy cushions that the group sit on up in the loft are basically giant bean bag chairs, but stuffed with some material a bit more comfortable than whatever it is that fills bean bags (which is why I didn’t call them bean bag chairs, plus would wizards know what a bean bag chair is??). All astronomy knowledge is brought to you by the internet, primarily Wikipedia.
> 
> 3\. I edited chapter eleven to include a paragraph about the scar Draco received from Sectumsempra in HBP. I’d forgotten about it. D: It’s not a big deal right now, but I’m planning for it to come up again later. (It won’t really be a big deal later, either, but I have a headcanon that Draco has a wicked scar from that encounter, and I felt really silly for forgetting about it, so I’m sticking it in. u_u) The added paragraph can be found at the beginning of chapter eleven, when Draco is examining himself in the mirror.
> 
> 4\. This is the longest chapter ever and I STILL got it out to you less than a month after my last update!!! If that’s not miraculous, I don’t know what is, honestly. That said, don’t expect the next chapter to be written and published this quickly. :P I might take a tiny break to see if I can update one of my other WIPs since I’ve been neglecting them for this story, but we’ll just have to see what happens. I write where I’m most inspired.


	13. A Shocking Discovery

Draco tossed and turned in bed, the last of the alcohol still buzzing through his veins. 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around the night he’d had. Ginny’s bikini-clad body, her tattoo, Draco’s boldness when he’d pressed his fingers against the Snitch as if daring it to fly away. His admission about what had preceded the fallout between himself and Pansy during their fifth year at Hogwarts—and Ginny not only accepting and understanding the harassment he’d endured but ultimately _siding_ with him on the issue. Unlike his Housemates, she hadn’t commented on young Draco’s lack of interest in sex. Didn’t women care about that sort of thing? Didn’t they like muscled, virile men sweeping them off their feet (sometimes literally) and taking care of them?

Not Ginny, though. She had never asked Draco to save her. In fact, she found it downright offensive if she thought Draco was trying to fight her battles for her.

The whole train of thought should have been absurd to begin with because why would he care what Ginny thought of him as a provider unless he was trying to court her? But Pansy’s words haunted him, as they had ever since she’d spoken them weeks ago:

_I hate to break it to you, Draco, but you two aren’t pretending to date. You are dating._

And after tonight, the only conclusion that he could come to was that she was right.

He and Ginny had known each other since they were children. She knew the ugliest sides of him and accepted them, embraced them, even. The memory of her exploration of his Dark Mark sent a ripple down his body, and he couldn’t distinguish whether he felt disgust or lust at the thought of her fingers ghosting over the hideous tattoo. There were days when Draco couldn’t accept what he’d gone through and what he’d done, but she did. For some reason, she did. Maybe she was mental.

And she should have been, after what she’d been through, too. Another wave—this time obvious as disgust and horror and fear—ripped through his body, making him tremble under his duvet. He hadn’t known the truth about the Chamber of Secrets. His father had never told him, but if he had known, he never would have demanded an explanation from her in front of his friends as he’d done. He never would have asked her to relive such a horrific experience with relative strangers.

But she had. She could have told him to fuck off. She could have hexed him or pushed him into the fire or thrown her wine on him. But she’d shared it with him, with all of them, and looking back now, from the opposite end of his drunkenness and violent vulnerability, he saw how much it had taken for her to tell that story as if it didn’t matter. Maybe she’d come to accept it, like Draco had come to accept his Mark; maybe she had learned to live with the memory of what happened to her, as Draco had had to learn to live with his own trauma, but she’d downed her wine to stiffen her spine and chosen every word carefully, making sure they were the right ones so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself.

He could have slapped himself for letting his anger get away from him, but he _had_ been angry that she’d been there to witness the ugliness that had reared its head between him and his friends. Like a snake startled by a careless hiker surging to attack. He’d bitten her and injected her with poison, and instead of rolling over and dying, she’d spit the poison out. She’d let it go.

They’d shared secrets with each other, made each other vulnerable. And then they’d gazed at the stars together, and Draco had admitted too much, his wine-loosened tongue telling her how highly he held her in his esteem.

They’d kissed. Again. She’d initiated it. Again.

What could it mean except that without them even noticing, their faux-relationship had turned into a real one?

o o o o

By morning, Draco was sleep deprived and resigned. Three weeks ago, he would have spiraled into a hole of rage at the very idea that he had let himself fall so deep with Ginny. In fact, that’s exactly what he’d done, right before he’d pushed her away, forcing himself into a state of denial that wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Then: anger. Now: resignation.

Ginny could never know how real their fake relationship had become. She’d set boundaries from the very beginning, lines she’d refused to cross, rules she never wanted to see broken, and if she realized that they had shattered the rules long ago, he wasn’t sure what she would do. All he knew was that he didn’t want to experience her rejection. That was the very last thing he wanted.

She’d kissed him multiple times, and to a normal person, this might have planted a hope that Ginny liked him more than she let on, that maybe she already knew their relationship had developed beyond their agreement and wanted it to remain at that elevated, not-fake status. But Ginny was even more stubborn than Draco. Over the course of the last several weeks, he’d come to know her, and what he knew about her was that she would cling to denial. She would tell herself that what they had wasn’t real and couldn’t ever be real, because to admit the opposite was to make herself vulnerable and to admit that she actually needed him.

Vulnerability she might be able to embrace, depending on the form it arrived in. But admitting that she needed Draco for anything? No. She would never do such a thing. And when she came to her senses and figured out that Draco really was as pathetic as Pansy had said for all these years, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him anyway.

Draco climbed out of bed, head pounding and heart racing and agonized, so agonized, over the stalemate he found himself in. Curiously, he only partially wished his situation to be different. Ginny’s rejection was inevitable, so there was no use wishing for a reality where she could overlook all of his flaws and want him despite them. Instead, he gloried in the memory of the understanding in her eyes as he’d revealed an incident from his past, her hand on his back in support, her trust when she’d explained the Chamber of Secrets. And, of course, always, her fingers tracing the lines of the Dark Mark, accepting and exploring his darkest shame. He would revel in those memories and in any future moments of acceptance that might occur until Jason Junker was defeated and the dating charade came to an end. That was the best Draco could hope for.

His hangover pulsed behind his eyes as he threw on a robe and left his bedroom in search of water and food. A grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed the hour: 11:30. A little too late for breakfast, then, and a little too early for lunch. Perfect. He wouldn’t have to share a meal with his mother as she watched him squint against the bright lights of the dining room in disapproval.

Unfortunately, Narcissa Malfoy had other plans, because Draco walked into the dining room to find his mother entertaining guests, sandwiches and mimosas arrayed in front of them.

“Draco!” Narcissa said, a bite in her tone that suggested displeasure at his sudden appearance.

The guests, a man and two women, the second of which looked to be about Draco’s age, turned toward the entrance at the sight of Narcissa’s narrowed eyes, their expressions unreadable.

Draco was suddenly aware of the unbuttoned robe that did little to obscure his bare-chested, boxer-clad body from view. His hair, mussed from the chlorinated pool at last night’s gathering, from air-drying, from being slept on, was stiff and stood at strange angles. He knew his mother was embarrassed. In fact, he was embarrassed, but he lifted his nose higher as if his disorderly appearance was intentional.

The younger woman smirked at Draco, her expression amused, approving, and cutting all at once.

“Is this Draco, then?” the man asked with a slight German accent, his thin mustache twitching over his lips. “Long night, young man?”

“The longest,” Draco agreed, smiling as his mother shot daggers at him with her eyes.

He came around the table and took the man’s outstretched hand.

“Nikolaus Konrad, Mr. Malfoy. My wife, Agnes, my daughter, Clare.” He gestured to each woman, who nodded her head demurely in turn, but, ever the gentleman, Draco made his rounds to take their hands and greet them with a kiss to their knuckles.

Narcissa’s nostrils flared as Draco claimed a seat across from Clare. Despite two empty chairs between him and his mother, he could feel the heat of the breath she released through her nose. If she’d weighed a couple tons more and sported wings and scales, she would have emitted smoke and sparks.

Draco helped himself to a sandwich and a mimosa, grateful for the alcohol to curb the pangs of his hangover, and then he waited expectantly for an explanation.

Narcissa, composing herself once more, smiled, but Draco saw the threat in it, even if the Konrad family did not.

“Draco, Agnes is an old friend of mine from our time at Hogwarts. I invited her and her family here today for a much needed reunion. Why don’t you get dressed and show Clare around the Manor while we catch up?”

He could believe that Mrs. Konrad and his mother had once been friends long ago, but a reunion was not the reason the Konrads had come to England now. He took his time getting dressed and was intercepted half an hour later by Clare at the door to the dining room.

“I’ve heard so much about the Malfoy family’s garden. Will you give me a tour?” Clare’s voice was deep and lilting, her accent hardly noticeable.

“I haven’t got the time to babysit anyone today.”

“I’d be the one babysitting you as I’m older.” She smiled, an insult laced in the tilt of her lips that Draco found displeasing, though he could see the appeal for another man—a man whose waking and sleeping thoughts were not already consumed with masses of red hair, a spattering of freckles, and a Snitch-shaped tattoo.

He gallantly, sarcastically, offered her his arm and led her out the door, toting her from one boring topiary to the next boring rose bush.

“You know why my family is here, don’t you?” Clare asked after they’d toured the back gardens, the ones that Narcissa tended to personally.

“I’m assuming my mother’s explanation was a load of shit, then, if you’re asking.”

“Of course it was. As we speak, your mother and my parents are discussing a potential marriage arrangement. How does that make you feel?”

Draco’s immediate reaction was answer enough as his whole body tensed and an ugly glower darkened his face.

“Same,” Clare said with a dramatic sigh, as if Draco wasn’t in the throes of a silent meltdown in the middle of his mother’s garden. “You’re attractive, I’ll give you that. But I don’t like it when men are prettier than me.”

Draco was still grappling with her words until, suddenly, finally, they penetrated his skull. He closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, drew his wand, blasted a hydrangea shrub with a wordless Reductor Curse, and then he turned on his heel to go back to the Manor, heedless of Clare following him.

They found their parents in the first floor parlor, enjoying a pot of coffee.

“Ah, look, my darling, it’s the children.” Clare and Draco both bristled at Mr. Konrad’s unfortunate word choice. “Look at their flushed faces! Enjoying the beauty of the great outdoors, I take it?”

Draco interpreted an innuendo in that last question that made him grit his teeth whether or not it was truly there, but it had been an age since Draco had lost his temper. Flinging hexes and profanities like weapons was something Draco would have done before the war or immediately after. He stood in seething silence as he regained control of himself, too aware of the awkward tension as everyone stared at him.

His mother with a warning in her eyes.

Clare, interested and uncertain.

Mr. and Mrs. Konrad in confusion.

Finally, he took a deep breath and straightened his spine, channeling the anger down to his feet and into the ground, away from him. Away, away. He could be deadly without volume, without rage.

He smiled. “I trust you and Mrs. Konrad have enjoyed your stay so far?”

“Oh, certainly, yes! It’s been quite a hospitable visit. Your mother is a very generous woman.”

 _That she is,_ Draco thought. She’d give away her own son if she thought it best for the family’s reputation.

“Good,” he said, magnanimous in his cheer. “I’m glad. I hope I don’t offend when I say you’ve made this trip for nothing. I won’t marry your daughter. My mother can console you on your way out the door.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Konrad said at the same time Narcissa stood up with a shocked, “Draco!”

Draco ignored their guests as he turned his cold wrath on his mother. “This is a despicable low for you. I’m a grown man, and you will not force me to marry if I don’t want to.”

“Then act like a man! Do what needs to be done for this family!”

Draco’s throat burned, his eyes stung, and he was horrified to realize his body was trying to _cry_. Those words— _Act like a man!_ —had been ringing in Draco’s head for years, long before he’d ever grown into manhood, but he’d never heard someone he loved speak them back to him so baldly, so coldly. Maybe Pansy had called him pathetic, maybe she had alluded to Draco’s inexperience and lack of sexual interest with happy derision over the years, but she hadn’t said those exact words. Draco had filled in the gaps. She didn’t have to say them if Draco thought them.

Never before had his mother cut him so. Never before had he felt less in her eyes.

Speaking around the lump in his throat, Draco said, “The best thing I can do for this family is stay out of it.”

He turned on his heel before his mother could continue the argument, before his eyes could betray him and leak with anger and grief. He shouldered past Clare, ignoring her entertained expression as he climbed the stairs back to his room. He packed with mechanical detachment, throwing clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag without looking at them. His mother’s _Then act like a man!_ battered the inside of his skull, and he tried to combat them with his own words, _I’m trying; I’m enough,_ but by the time his bag was sufficiently full, his defense had turned into a question.

_Aren’t I enough?_

This is the sentence that echoed through his head as he Apparated to Nott House and knocked on the door. He hadn’t known where else to go. For a brief moment, he’d considered going to Ginny, but he couldn’t let her see him this way. Not a man, a welp. A beaten puppy. A lizard instead of a dragon.

When Pansy threw the door open, she took one look at his face and swallowed whatever sarcastic thing she had been about to say. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

“I’ll get the firewhisky.”

o o o o

After Pansy and Theodore had married, Theodore had found a home in the Cotswolds that he’d claimed for their own. Nott Sr. still lived in Nott Manor, the family property in Wiltshire where Theodore had grown up not far from Draco and Malfoy Manor, but Nott House, with its newly constructed yellow-bricked walls, belonged to Theodore alone. Theodore and Pansy.

Unlike the parlor at Malfoy Manor, Pansy’s parlor had been decorated with useful pieces of furniture, plush chairs and tables picked for their comfort and utility, not their aesthetic. The parlor was where she and Theodore often retreated for a nightcap—or hosted their friends for more than a solitary drink—so when Draco’s inattention caused firewhisky to drip out of his glass and onto the armchair he’d claimed, Pansy didn’t fuss. She merely Vanished the spilled liquid with a wave of her wand and supplied Draco with another drink.

“Water-wicking material is so efficient, don’t you think?” she said as Draco accepted his new glass with care.

He hummed around a sip, and she sat down next to Theodore on a deceptively squishy sofa.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Theodore asked. People who didn’t know him would have assumed that Theodore had asked out of a sense of duty or propriety. The way he turned his head away suggested he had no interest in Draco’s problems, but those who knew him best understood that Theodore would not have asked if he hadn’t cared. Theodore was never polite for politeness’ sake.

Draco opened his mouth to decline, the instinct to bottle his emotions nearly too strong to resist. But he remembered last night and the ugliness around the campfire. It had made him sick to fight with his friends, to dredge up and confront his feelings with people he’d thought too uncaring to ever want to hear them. Then Ginny had shared her secret with them, and suddenly, their reluctance to open up to each other had seemed so silly. What kind of friends were they if they didn’t have each other’s backs?

He took another sip of his firewhisky, longer this time, and held it in his mouth for a few seconds before he gulped it down. The liquid burned a path through his throat and all the way to his stomach, steeling his resolve.

“Yes, actually. I do.”

Pansy’s eyes widened, and even Theodore, who always kept his gaze averted, looked at Draco in mild surprise.

Pansy made herself more comfortable, tucking her legs underneath her and clutching her drink in her hand, signalling to Draco that she was preparing herself to be a listening ear.

“Today, my mother tried to arrange a marriage between me and the daughter of an old Hogwarts friend of hers.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened around her glass, but she stayed silent, listening.

“I told her and her guests that I had no intention of marrying, and… she told me to act like a man and do what was best for our family. I told her the best thing I could do for our family was leave it. Or something to that effect, I don’t even remember anymore.”

He drained his glass as he waited for Pansy’s reaction. He was always waiting for Pansy’s reaction, as if he needed her approval. Why? And how long had he done that?

“You left home?”

He toed the overnight bag he’d dropped at his feet, which Pansy hadn’t seemed to notice until now.

“Goddamn. You left home,” she repeated, awed instead of asking.

But that was all she said. Maybe she was still processing Draco’s situation. Maybe she didn’t have anything nice to say, even though that usually didn’t stop her from speaking anyway. Draco wondered if she thought he was being ridiculous. Pansy’s marriage had been arranged, and, sure, she’d dreaded her wedding day, dreaded a life with Theodore, but it had worked out for her. They fell in love with each other. Lived happily ever after. There was no guarantee Draco would get the same happy ending.

Pansy stared into the fire crackling in the grate. “You did the right thing.” Her voice was low, as if hoping she wouldn’t be heard. “Don’t let her choose your future for you.”

It had worked out for Pansy, and even though she and Theodore loved each other madly, Daphne would always be a _what if_. There would always be another path that Pansy would have chosen if she could have and a future she would never know. Maybe her life with Daphne had had a limited number of days anyway. Maybe they weren’t actually compatible. Maybe the consequences of choosing Daphne over any man would have ruined Pansy’s life. She didn’t know because she had never been given the chance to make that choice.

Then Pansy cracked a smile and smacked her husband’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “Theodore, can you believe Draco left home? Because of a _Weasley?_ ”

“What?” Draco said, startled by the jump, wondering at the connection. “No, it’s not because of her.” Her smug expression suggested both that she didn’t believe him and that she’d said it to provoke him. “ _It’s not._ Mother and I have been having this fight for years, long before I ever—”

“You ever what?” Pansy prompted, manic glee in her eyes.

 _Long before I ever fell for Ginny,_ were the words he’d started to say, but he changed them because he wasn’t ready to admit his feelings to another person, even if they were obvious. Agonizingly obvious.

“Long before I ever agreed to Ginny’s charade.”

“That’s what I thought you were going to say.” Judging by her smirk, clearly she hadn’t thought that at all. 

Theodore knew exactly when to cut his wife off, because he then asked, “Do you need a place to stay?”

“I’d appreciate it. I won’t overstay my welcome, I assure you.”

Pansy waved his concern away. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stay as long as you’d like. We can be your home away from home. That’s what friends are for, right?”

o o o o

For the second time in less than a week, Draco found himself in the Ministry cafeteria, only this time, Draco had brought last night’s Nott House leftovers to avoid having to interact with Steve the cashier again and his companion was Colin Creevey instead of Ginny.

Last week Draco would have been annoyed being forced into Creevey’s company, but this week he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Colin was the only friend of Ginny’s that he was on somewhat friendly terms with, maybe with the exception of Potter. However, it didn’t matter how friendly he and Potter became; Draco would never voluntarily have a conversation with him about Ginny.

“Wow,” Creevey said. “You had quite the weekend.”

Draco eyed his chicken parmesan and poked it with his fork. “Has, er, Ginny said anything about me recently?”

“You mean about this weekend? I haven’t seen her today yet. I think she was running late because she wasn’t in her cubicle this morning.”

“Hmph.”

“We do talk about you fairly often, though,” Creevey offered upon seeing Draco’s disappointed face.

“Do you? What do you say about me?”

The ghost smirked and Draco had to hide his cringe. He sounded too eager, like a teenager passing notes with the object of his fancy’s friends, trying to suss out whether said object of fancy would accept or reject his advances. He’d never done anything like that at Hogwarts. He’d never let himself feel this way about anyone, so the experience was new and awkward and awful.

It was clear Creevey had only spoken up to see Draco’s reaction, because he said, “I don’t think I should get involved. Ginny doesn’t like me meddling in her personal life.”

That was a facet of Ginny’s character that Draco understood all too well, so he didn’t push. Not hard anyway. “Well, can you at least say whether she dislikes me? You can tell me that much, can’t you?”

Creevey peered at him through narrowed eyes, sizing Draco up or trying to make a decision, Draco wasn’t sure. He had almost given up waiting for a response when Colin said, “No, she doesn’t dislike you at all.”

Before he could stop himself, a small smile stretched across his lips, and his body grew warm in satisfaction. When Creevey’s smug smile reappeared, Draco removed the goofy expression from his face, wiping the slate clean once more.

“Good to know,” he said.

Draco tried not to notice how closely Creevey watched him as he ate.

“That looks tasty,” the ghost finally said after an extremely awkward minute of silence.

“It is.”

“Ginny’s lunches never look that good.” And then as if he’d never detoured on a tangent, he went on. “You know, you’ve changed a lot since school.”

“Have I?”

Creevey nodded. “You’re not much like the Malfoy I remember. You do honest work, you associate with Muggle-sympathizing women and Muggle-born ghosts, you turn your nose up at marriage for the sake of securing your social status! In fact, you don’t seem to care about social status at all! Next you’ll move into a flat in the Muggle world or buy a farm or something.”

Draco frowned at his last bite of chicken as he considered Creevey’s view of him. Had he changed that much that the next logical step in Draco’s life was to move to the Muggle world and… raise cattle? Sixteen-year-old Draco had cared so much about social status (among other things), he’d accepted a mission to murder Albus Dumbledore in cold blood and dueled anyone who had so much as mentioned his father’s stint in Azkaban. His family’s fall from grace had embarrassed him.

Now, his family had fallen so low, the only way he could scramble out from the bottom was to reject everything that had made him a Malfoy, including his own parents, whom he had worked so hard to save during his sixth year.

Had Draco really changed? Or was he simply following the path that led him to the most social status, even if that meant turning his back on his family? Was he fraternizing with blood traitors and Muggle-borns because he actually somewhat liked them (or at least tolerated them, as in Creevey’s case) or because he knew associating with them was a surefire way to be accepted into the folds of society again? Maybe a different kind of society than he was used to, but the society that was currently in power nonetheless.

Why did that distinction bother him? Weeks ago, when he’d sat across from Ginny and considered her request for help deterring Jason Junker, one of the pros on his pro and con list had included the social benefits of associating with her. Had he changed because he no longer saw her as opportunity for social gain?

Why, why, _why_ did he care?

“Well,” Draco finally said as he reemerged from his troublesome thoughts, “war can change a person. I experienced and saw some things I never thought I’d see in my life.”

“Like what?” Creevey asked, his mood suddenly somber. The war had changed him in the most horrific way a person can be changed. The fact that he still roamed the earth as a spirit, almost alive but not really, was just a fluke.

This was the reason Draco chose to confide in Creevey. He knew he would keep a secret because he kept Ginny’s, and he, better than anyone with whom Draco was on speaking terms (with the exception of Ginny, of course), would understand something of what Draco had gone through.

For the next thirty minutes, he told Creevey everything, starting from the moment the Dark Lord took up residence at Malfoy Manor and offered Draco a mission to his father’s trial and sentencing and how the Malfoy family’s disgrace had made Draco feel. As much as Draco had loved commanding attention and talking about himself while at Hogwarts, he had never talked about anything this painful and real before. He’d never spoken of the war with anyone, not even his parents, who had experienced the same atrocities as he and had no need to voice them out loud.

The argument around the fire in the Greengrass’s gymnasium must have loosened something inside Draco because as soon as he’d begun to speak, he hadn’t been able to stop until he was hollowed out. By the time he was done, he realized that this wasn’t just a story that needed to be told, a burden that he needed to relinquish. Without saying the words outright, he was asking for forgiveness. Even Colin Creevey’s forgiveness—especially Colin Creevey’s, considering what Creevey had lost at the Battle of Hogwarts.

As Draco spoke, Colin moved from floating above the picnic table to sitting on the bench across from Draco, his expression dark and intent as he listened. When Draco finished, he began to recount his own war experiences. How he and Dennis received letters from the Ministry informing them that they were no longer welcome at Hogwarts and needed to turn themselves in for questioning. How, with the assistance of a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he and his family went into hiding in Wales. How, months and months later, he’d received a message from Longbottom the moment Potter, Weasley, and Granger had returned to Hogwarts, and how he intercepted his brother’s message and left his family in the middle of the night to join the battle alone.

“The last time my family saw me was at dinner the night the battle started,” Creevey said, his voice thick with regret. Draco could tell if he’d had the ability to shed tears, he would have at that moment. “We had macaroni and cheese, because that’s all we could get our hands on. We went to bed that night, and I was gone the next morning. Next thing they knew, Kingsley Shacklebolt was at their door telling them they were safe but that they’d found my body at Hogwarts.”

The emotion that surged through Draco’s body was intense and ugly, which made him lose his temper. “You’re such an idiot!”

Creevey shrugged. “I had to help. I _had_ to. Maybe you can’t understand why, but I couldn’t sit back and let everyone else fight my family’s battles for us! We spent months hiding from the Ministry, afraid Death Eaters were going to find our safe house and kill us all. When the opportunity to fight back arrived, I had to take it.”

Draco closed his eyes, his whole body quaking. Gryffindors had _no_ sense of self-preservation at all, a fact that was endlessly unfathomable, endlessly infuriating to Draco.

Silence descended over the picnic table as both men—yes, even at sixteen years old, Colin Creevey was more of a man than Draco could ever hope to be—rummaged through their memories. Draco filtered through his, wishing he could lock them up inside the chest in the back of his mind so he could move on with his life, but he couldn’t stow them away just yet. He’d shared his intense experiences with Colin Creevey of all people, and there was one last person he needed to bare his soul to before he could give up the past.

Draco roused himself from his thoughts. “You’re a good man, Colin Creevey. Idiotic and bullheaded and brash and, more often than not, annoying, but brave and a true, good man.”

“Don’t say that,” Colin replied, tortured. “I’m a coward. I’m the biggest coward who ever existed. That’s why I’m still here, don’t you see? That’s why I didn’t move on.”

Maybe they were all cowards, every last person on the planet. All with their own insecurities and fears. With things they were willing to fight for, things they were willing to die for, and truths they’d rather not face about themselves and the world. Draco looked at Colin Creevey and saw a man willing to fight for justice and freedom, but he looked at himself and saw a self-serving coward with no principles. Colin looked at himself and saw a coward who couldn’t face the family he’d left behind, but he looked at Draco and saw someone with more conviction and decency than Draco had ever seen in himself. Maybe they were all looking at other people to avoid their own flaws.

“Maybe,” Draco said, his tone musing as he considered this new perspective, “we need to find something that makes us feel brave and strong.”

“What if there isn’t anything?”

“There has to be. If we can’t find it, we have to make it.”

“What if we can’t?”

Draco stared down at his last bite of chicken parmesan, now certainly cold, but he didn’t know how to answer Creevey’s question. The seconds ticked by until, finally, it was time for Draco to get back to work.

“Do you want this last bite?”

One of Creevey’s eyebrows arched, but Draco drew his wand and warmed the chicken back up with a heating spell until soft tendrils of steam rose into the air.

Creevey leaned through the table, opened his mouth wide, and scooped the chicken into his mouth—or he would have if his body had been a solid mass. He did this two more times, until the temperature of his spirit had cooled the chicken again, and then he sat up straight, smacking his lips.

“I _think_ I taste something, and I _think_ it tastes good, but it just isn’t the same.”

No, Draco agreed. It would never be the same again.

o o o o

Draco left the cafeteria in a disoriented state, as if he was the only real thing in a world made of dreams. People talked and laughed around him as he traversed the corridors to the lifts, but the sounds went right through him, echoing inside his hollow body before exiting without leaving any imprint that he’d heard them.

In a way, he felt worse than he had on Saturday after the argument with Pansy and Daphne and Astoria. Worse than he had that night when he’d imagined eleven-year-old Ginny possessed by the Dark Lord’s soul. He felt raw, literally raw, as if at some point in his childhood someone had forgot to put him in the oven, and he’d been sitting on the counter rotting away for the last decade or so.

The campfire argument and his lunchtime discussion with Creevey had sliced the rotted edges away, but he still felt contaminated and diseased by his past and by his own self.

He _had_ changed since the war. He just hadn’t noticed until someone had confronted his rot and discarded it. The man he’d become—and no matter what his mother said, virgin or not, he _was_ a man, dammit—wasn’t who his mother had expected him to be. He wasn’t who Draco had expected to be, but he recognized evil for what it was now and knew to keep his distance from it.

Even if that meant cutting his family out of his life. He’d already written off his father, which had been an easy thing to do considering he’d sit in Azkaban for the next two decades, but his mother was another matter. She wouldn’t give him up easily. Draco didn’t want to give her up, either, but if they couldn’t see eye to eye, about marriage, about Draco’s career, about the anger and pain Draco still felt from the war, what choice did he have?

All of the money he’d earned from the Ministry since he’d started working there sat in a cozy pile in a bank vault at Gringotts. Draco had never touched it because he’d had no reason to when his mother had housed, clothed, and fed him his entire life. If he had to, he could live off his personal savings, couldn’t he? He had no idea how much he’d earned because his paychecks had never mattered before. He had no idea how much money was required to simply exist.

But he was thinking too far ahead, and Draco, dizzy with the idea of cutting himself off from the Malfoy fortune, put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He took three deep breaths and then two more.

He needed something that made him feel strong and brave, so he went down to Level Four to see Ginny.

At first glance, her cubicle was empty, which wasn’t a cause for alarm until a paper airplane jammed into his temple, over and over again until he reached up and plucked it from the air. He unfolded the lavender paper and read:

> _Draco,_
> 
> _I meant to tell you this sooner. Last week, in fact, when I found you in the office caf. And before Astoria’s pool party. Also after Astoria’s pool party. The point is, I’m sorry for not informing you before leaving_

Draco’s eyes widened on the word ‘leaving,’ and then, heart pounding, he raced through the rest of the letter, his fingers clenching the paper so tightly they threatened to rip the memo in two.

> _but it all came together so last minute, and with everything that happened this weekend, well, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. (I’m being melodramatic, aren’t I? Merlin help me. I’ve rewritten this letter four times now. I refuse to write another draft!)_
> 
> _I’ve gone on a business trip to Paris for a conference. I should be back at some point on Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. I wasn’t given my train ticket beforehand, so I’m not quite sure of the intended schedule._
> 
> _Anyway, don’t worry about me. I’ll be with Junker._

In a jerk reaction, Draco emitted an agonized groan and tossed the letter away from himself, which of course caused the paper to float through the air, back and forth all over the cubicle before finally landing on the ground. He stared at the innocuous thing so hard, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it burst into flames.

His heart thumped inside his ribcage, reverberating through his bones like the bass of a drum.

_Don’t worry about me. I’ll be with Junker._

What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

Rage coursed through his veins like a drug, giving him the strength to pick the letter back up and begin reading again.

> _I never would have agreed to go if I’d realized he’d be my travelling companion, but he didn’t make that fact known to me until after I signed the necessary release forms._
> 
> _But seriously. Please. Don’t worry about me. Let me take care of this. Let me try._
> 
> _Don’t tell Harry, Ron, or Hermione about this, and don’t you fucking dare come to Paris or I’ll hex your bollocks off._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Ginny_

Suddenly, Draco knew exactly how Colin must have felt when he’d received the message that the Battle of Hogwarts was starting, because war drums were beating in Draco’s chest, and the sound of his own blood rushed through his ears, and adrenaline was surging through him, triggering his fight or flight response.

And his brain was telling him to fight.

Every muscle in his body ached to go his office and find someone to sign off on an international Portkey. It took all of his control and all of his strength and all of his bravery _not_ to go to Paris and make sure Ginny was all right, to make sure Junker never even looked at Ginny again.

But he didn’t. He didn’t. He went down to Magical Transportation on Level Six because that’s where he worked, and he busied himself with Floo contracts and applications and maintenance requests.

Because Ginny had asked him not to interfere, and, damn him, damn him, damn him, Draco loved her. He loved her enough to do as she asked. Anything she asked.

Instead of filling in his hollowed center, the realization made him feel empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!
> 
> This chapter title is a bit misleading because there are FOUR shocking discoveries in this chapter! :O I need all my chapter titles to match, so I fibbed a little. If I think of a better title, I'll probably change it.
> 
> Not gonna lie. I really don't want to write this Paris trip. :)))) So I gave y'all a Draco chapter instead.
> 
> I can see the end in sight. I'm not going to estimate how many chapters are left of this story because I'm not good at that, and I'll likely end up writing twice as many chapters as I say are left, but just know that we're winding down. :(


	14. A Parisian Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes and credits will follow at the end of the chapter.  
>  **WARNING** for attempted sexual assault in the form of some unwanted kissing and some above-the-clothes groping.

Ginny closed her eyes and tried to recall the taste of Draco’s lips. Wine and fruit. She remembered, but she hoped if she concentrated hard enough, the flavor would return to her tongue. Maybe she could imagine the pressure of his mouth against hers into existence. Maybe she could conjure the sensation of his hands grasping her hips. 

Instead, Junker’s hot hand was a heavy weight on her knee, scorching Ginny through her work robes and the jeans she wore underneath them. Keeping her eyes closed, she put her hand on top of Junker’s and shoved it off her leg. The cold window pressed into her forehead, and she moved her legs closer to the edge of her seat, as far away from her supervisor as possible. Even sitting in their own individual seats there wasn’t enough space to move. Junker’s elbow monopolized the armrest between them, using it to reach out to Ginny and run his finger along her arm.

She opened her eyes, her glare cutting. “Keep your hands off me.”

“You really should be careful how you speak to me.” He smiled, a delicate scold in the turn of his lips. “I’m taking you to Paris with me, showing you a city of art and culture the likes of which you’ve never experienced before.”

Ginny grit her teeth. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m giving you an opportunity and a gift. You should be more appreciative that someone wants to elevate you.”

“So I’m poor and common and would never have thought to go to Paris if it wasn’t for your generosity.”

“You said it, not me.”

Ginny bristled with anger at the pleased expression on Junker’s face. She swatted his hand away from her arm and said, “Don’t act like this trip was all your idea. The Ministry is paying for everything. You just needed someone to take Rose’s place.”

He shook his head, seemingly sad at Ginny’s lack of comprehension. “Don’t you see, Ginevra—” a disgusted shiver ran down Ginny’s spine, her full name sounding foul on Junker’s lips, “—I only _said_ Rose and the others couldn’t come because I knew you needed a little persuasion. You’re much too proud to accept charity, and I didn’t want you to feel like my generosity was a charitable act. Even if it was.”

The chill that had gone down Ginny’s spine turned into full-body trembling. Dread pooled in her stomach, and her body threatened to expel it. Retching all over Junker was out of the question; she couldn’t display fear in front of him. She couldn’t let him know he had any sort of power over her, not even over her body’s involuntary responses.

Junker leaned closer, returning his hand to her knee again but moving it upwards, rubbing her thigh like he’d rub a bogey off his hand.

“I know you all too well. I want to give you the finest things life has to offer, but your adorable pride won’t allow you to accept anything from me. You will, though. You’ll come to your senses one day, and you’ll see how I’m the best man for you. I look forward to seeing that realization in your eyes.”

He sat back against his chair but left his hand where it was, rubbing Ginny’s knee, massaging the lower part of her thigh.

Ginny didn’t notice she’d stopped breathing until her throat felt tight and her eyes began to sting. Carefully, so carefully, she sucked air down into her lungs, trying not to let her breath hitch, trying not to let a sob escape. A sense of the inevitable overwhelmed her. It had been weeks since Junker had directed his attention to her, and it was a betrayal how she had forgotten the fear that came part and parcel with his presence.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window, all her energy spent on controlling her breathing and stopping her tears. She had no energy left to worry about Junker’s hand on her leg, and the worst part was: Junker knew it.

o o o o

By the time they checked into their hotel, Ginny’s stomach was mutinous in its hunger and nausea, and every muscle in her body ached from holding herself still for the entire two and a half-hour train ride. She barely noticed the layout of the hotel, how the lobby exited outside into a tight, enclosed courtyard, with rooms designed to simulate individual cottages situated around the perimeter like a quaint neighborhood. She locked herself into her room without a word to Junker, wishing only for the day to end.

Her head was beginning to pound, and only pounded harder when a knock sounded at her door, three minutes after falling on top of her bed.

Her heart pounded in time with her headache as she sat up and dragged herself to the door. She could have ignored the knock, pretended she was asleep, but, unfortunately, the cleaning staff had left the curtains open on the windows that looked out into the courtyard, and whoever was at the door could see directly into her room if they chose to take a peek.

Who was she kidding, though? She knew exactly who was at the door.

She opened it, leaving the chain latched to prevent him from pushing his way inside, and he smiled as if he didn’t notice the chain bisecting his view of her face.

“Come on, Ginevra! Time for dinner now.”

“I’m really not hungry,” she lied. Thankfully her stomach played along and stayed quiet.

“No, no, I insist we have dinner together. It’s our first night in Paris! The Eiffel Tower is a third of a mile away from our hotel, and it’s a beautiful, crisp night. Get your shoes on, young lady.”

Ginny, her body becoming all too familiar with the sensation of tight muscles, straightened her spine. “It’s been a long day, Jason. I’m not really feeling well enough for sightseeing. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

She closed the door before he could argue with her, turned the only other lock, and double-checked the chain before shutting off the light. She stumbled through the dark to close the curtains, the sight of Junker’s silhouette still standing in front of her door urging her to work faster. As soon as the curtains were closed, she huddled on top of the bed, curling her body into herself as she strained to hear either his footsteps walking away or her doorknob rattle.

Dammit. She’d forgotten the wards.

She dived for her discarded robes and removed her wand from an inner pocket, throwing a silent spell at the door and the windows to prevent Junker from magically entering her room. There was no evidence suggesting he would, but she felt safer knowing she’d done everything she could to deter him.

Half-crouched on the mattress, she waited, and then—finally—the sound of footsteps echoing off the cobblestone walk met her ears, and then the door to the room next door opened and closed. She released her breath as soon as silence descended once more and changed out of her jeans and jumper in the dark and into some pajamas.

She considered going out anyway, finding a nearby grocery store or a cafe and just ordering some food to go, but the fear that she might run into Junker on the street (and the fact that she had already taken off her bra and jeans) immobilized her.

She couldn’t read or speak French anyway. If Draco had been there, she was certain he would have been able to feed her satisfactorily. The memory of the duck they’d eaten weeks ago at that first dinner where Draco had agreed to pretend to date her danced through her mind, making her stomach cramp with furious hunger pangs. For a moment, she wished she’d never left that note. Or wished she’d never threatened him to keep him in England. Part of her wondered if he would have come to her rescue, and part of her wished he would ignore her letter and do just that.

The other part, the nauseated part that fought with hunger for room in her stomach, was determined to do this on her own. She would get through this conference, she would keep Junker at bay, and she would figure out some way to stop him.

It was all too clear to her now that Junker had never lost hope of winning Ginny over. Either he hadn’t fallen for her faux-relationship with Draco or he no longer cared that another man had a claim on her. Junker—the weasel, the snake, no! Something much worse than either of those animals: the leech, the Flobberworm, the Blast-Ended Skrewt!—had bided his time and waited patiently for an opportunity to arise when he and Ginny could be alone.

The idea that her faux-relationship had been for naught, that Junker couldn’t be fooled or deterred, added a third sensation to Ginny’s stomach: sinking disappointment.

She’d made a bargain with Colin: his help keeping an eye on Junker and reporting back to Ginny in exchange for her support when Colin reunited with Dennis. There was no point holding Colin to their deal anymore when Junker had never moved on to a new victim. The least Ginny could do now was help Colin set up a meeting with Dennis as she’d promised. As soon as she returned to London, she’d work on that.

Her eyes stung, and two lone tears leaked out of each eye, down the side of her face to her hairline where her temple pressed against the pillow. Suddenly, Ginny felt lost and alone. Once Colin reunited with Dennis, he’d move into Hogwarts to stay with his brother, and since Junker no longer cared about Ginny’s relationship status, there was no reason for her to continue her make believe relationship with Draco.

They hadn’t left her yet, but she already missed Colin and Draco immensely.

o o o o

After checking in for the pre-conference workshops at the French Ministry, most of the next morning had been spent in a flurry of networking and information sessions, which meant, thankfully, that Ginny was never idle long enough for Junker to get her alone. While Jason attended presentations about administrative and managerial matters, Ginny sat in on whatever session looked vaguely interesting.

By lunchtime, she’d already learned more than she’d ever needed to know about an attempt in North America to harness the electricity from the storms produced by Thunderbirds as a form of renewable energy, the very suggestion of which had initiated a fistfight between the presenter and three people in attendance, leaving seven people with black eyes and/or bruised shins. And that had just been the first session of the day!

After _Thunderbirds: Fowl Weather Friends or Source of Sustainable Energy?_ , Ginny hopped across the conference venue to a session on the sale of Class A Non-Tradeable Goods and how to step up security and handling procedures to prevent such goods from falling onto the black market. She left the session paranoid that her lax attention to the issue had single-handedly endangered wizards and Muggles alike worldwide.

By the end of the networking (read: snack) break that followed, Ginny had calmed down enough to remember that she didn’t work with any tradeable goods in the Spirit Division, leaving her quite relieved when she attended her next session entitled _Equal Employment Opportunity in the Regulation of Magical Creatures: an American Perspective_. The title had struck her when she’d seen it in her conference program.

The moment she’d sunk into deep despair over her situation with Junker, she’d taken it upon herself to conduct research on Muggle laws and cases of sexual harassment. With certainty, Ginny would say that she was an expert on the discrimination laws within the United Kingdom. An opportunity to hear a session about equal employment and discrimination from someone outside the UK was one she could not pass up. 

Ginny grabbed a seat at the beginning of the second row and looked around, surprised by the lack of attendance to what promised to be an informative presentation. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. If the Ministry in the United Kingdom had never addressed the issue of discrimination before, that suggested a lack of interest and concern about the issue. It should not have surprised her at all that the topic might be an unpopular one.

At the front of the room, a short, dark-skinned woman glanced at her watch. At exactly a quarter after the hour, she looked up and smiled, undaunted by the small turnout.

“Good morning, y’all,” she said, her voice as warm as a Sunday lunchtime picnic. “My name is Glinda Whithurst, and I am the Compliance Officer for the Office of Equal Opportunity at the Federal Bureau of Magic, Southeastern Division. Today we’re going to talk about equal employment opportunity laws in the United States: what they are, why they’re important, and how we comply with them. We will also briefly touch on the consequences of noncompliance, which is something I specifically work with everyday. Before we begin, does anyone here know what I mean when I say equal opportunity?”

Ginny felt a bit like Hermione as she raised her hand, albeit lacking her friend’s eagerness and confidence.

Glinda smiled and gestured at Ginny. “Yes, ma’am. Go ahead.”

“In its most simple definition, equal opportunity means everyone is treated the same and protected from unfair barriers and prejudices that might allow for discrimination.”

“That’s exactly right! The equal employment opportunity laws in the States strive to prevent unlawful discrimination in the workplace based on these specific characteristics: age, race, color, national origin, sex, religion, disability, and blood status. My job is to make sure that all of the Bureau’s branch offices in the Southeast Division uphold these laws to prevent discrimination and penalize the offices that do not comply.

“Now we need to define what is considered unlawful harassment. Does anyone have any ideas?”

Ginny’s hand shot into the air faster this time.

“Harassment is considered unlawful when an employee is forced to endure it as a condition of their employment or when the harassment is severe _and_ pervasive enough to create a hostile, intimidating, or abusive work environment.”

 _“Yes,”_ Glinda said. “You’ve clearly heard this before. Do you work in the Equal Opportunity field as well?”

Ginny shook her head and slid further down into her seat as her face burned.

“And what’s your name?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

Glinda turned back to the rest of the audience. “Ginny is absolutely correct. In order to be considered unlawful, the conduct in question must place conditions on another person’s employment or the conduct must be severe enough and pervasive enough that a reasonable person would find the work environment abusive, hostile, or intimidating. Let me give you some examples from my own career.”

Glinda cleared her throat and lifted her hands theatrically, clearly a born story-teller. Ginny, desperate to know that she was not alone in what she went through with Junker, leaned forward and listened intently. She had unfurled a piece of parchment and taken a quill out of her bag before the session began and now she waited with bated breath, both poised for notes that might help her in her own situation.

“The year was 1987 and yours truly was a rather naive twenty-year-old woman just entering the workforce for the first time. I’d been hired at a post office to deliver mail, but after three months there, I was still in the sorting facility filling bags. I hadn’t delivered one parcel; I’d never been trained to.

“So I mentioned it to the postmaster, who told me I couldn’t deliver mail because no one wanted a black lady delivering their packages. It was better for me and for the post office if I worked out of sight. I, of course, argued that I’d signed a contract to be a mail carrier. None of the other mail carriers were forced to work in the sorting facility, and none of the other sorters were restricted from helping customers at the front counter, either. Just me, because of the color of my skin. The postmaster didn’t seem to care about my contract and told me if I wanted to keep my job, I would sort the mail without complaint.

“After speaking up, I endured a barrage of racist comments and snide remarks about my ungrateful and lazy attitude from the postmaster. Eventually, the situation escalated to sexual comments about my body, my time of the month, and the army of children I didn’t actually have. The postmaster didn’t know that. He just made assumptions about my promiscuity based on stereotypes. I endured this treatment for six more months before I finally quit and looked for a job elsewhere.

“In my case, a condition was placed on my employment: I couldn’t work one-on-one with patrons and I couldn’t deliver mail because of the color of my skin. The harassment I faced was also continuous and severe enough that my workplace became a threatening place for me.”

An outraged voice from the back of the room spoke up: “If your laws are so great, why didn’t they protect you?”

“I simply didn’t know about them. I didn’t know who to turn to. I thought the postmaster was as far up the chain of command as I could go. I never realized I could file a complaint with the Office of Equal Opportunity in my division.”

“What happened to the postmaster?” Ginny asked, her heart in her throat. “Did he ever get in trouble?”

The sad smile adorning Glinda’s lips stretched into one of triumph. “I’ll have you know, a couple years later, that postmaster was fired specifically because of his conduct. It took three complaints from three different people, but the Bureau finally became aware of the discrimination and harassment employees faced from him and removed him.”

Another woman in the front row asked, “Were you working for the Office of Equal Opportunity when he was fired?”

“I wasn’t, but as soon as I came into a position to do so, I made annual trainings about the laws mandatory for all employees, so no one would ever be uninformed and feel as helpless as I did at the age of twenty. Now, let’s talk some more about what we consider unlawful harassment, shall we?”

o o o o

After the session, Ginny lingered in the room as Glinda packed up her display posters and collected the handouts that had been left behind.

“Oh, hello there, Ginny,” Glinda said when she finally noticed Ginny loitering in front of the first row of chairs.

“I just had a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!”

“I was wondering… How did the wizarding community in America come to adopt these laws? How was the wizarding Office of Equal Employment Opportunity born? Which came first, the Muggle laws or the wizarding ones?”

Glinda laughed as she shrunk her display posters down to the size of a postage stamp and stuffed them into her purse before turning to the door and beckoning Ginny along. As they passed into the hall, another presenter came in to set up for her session, and a group of people waited outside the door.

“Muggles came up with the laws first, in 1964. The first laws were simply about racial discrimination, but as the years went on, activists fought for other characteristics to be protected by law as well. When the wizarding community finally adopted similar laws in 1984, we based them off what the Muggles had accomplished before us. From what I understand, the laws are essentially the same, except that we protect blood status as well as age, race, sex, etc. There’s an outspoken faction of wizards that also want to include magical ability under the law, to protect Squibs. Those characteristics are obviously unique to the wizarding community.”

Ginny stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face Glinda, hope and desperation both driving her.

“How, though? How did the American wizarding community manage to put this system in place? How were the laws adopted? How were they accepted?”

“The same way the Muggles adopted the laws. A lawsuit was filed and the prosecutor won, setting a precedent for future cases of discrimination. In our case, a Muggleborn witch filed a lawsuit against her employer alleging racial discrimination and sexual harassment. The case went to trial, and a jury of her peers found the employer guilty. That case forced the Bureau to take discrimination and harassment seriously, and in less than two years, some bills were signed into law and the Office of Equal Employment Opportunity was born.”

“Two years?” Ginny repeated, her heart sinking. She couldn’t continue for two more years under Jason, waiting for legislation to be put in place. She didn’t think she had the money or stamina to take her case to court, either. After the treatment Harry had received from the Wizengamot in 1995, Ginny just couldn’t see her situation being taken seriously. She couldn’t see Junker receiving a harsh enough punishment if convicted.

She had been hoping that seeing Glinda’s presentation would fill her with optimism, and in a way it had because it was clear that a wizarding community _could_ successfully borrow from the Muggle world where it mattered most. But the hope was overridden by despair. Ginny loved her job, but she didn’t have time to wait for the process to work.

“Thanks for the information,” she said after a belated moment. “I enjoyed your presentation.”

Glinda smiled, patted her shoulder, and turned on her heel, leaving Ginny in the middle of the hall, alone and dejected.

She loved her job, but if Ginny couldn’t find a solution soon, she couldn’t see any other option but to leave it.

o o o o

After a whirlwind day of information overload, Ginny looked forward to grabbing a bite to eat and returning to the hotel to relax, but there was still one more engagement she needed to attend before she could call it a night.

The welcome dinner and opening session of the conference provided a chance for attendees to socialize with one another in a more relaxed environment. Ginny had thought to skip the dinner altogether and take the opportunity to explore Paris a bit instead, but Junker had insisted on her attendance, and at the end of the day, networking was an integral aspect of the conference experience.

She only managed to enter the dining hall, Junker’s hand hot and heavy on the small of her back, after reminding herself that making new work acquaintances would be useful when job hunting—if her situation came down to that unpleasant conclusion.

From the midst of a small group of people, Glinda Whithurst smiled and waved as Ginny and Junker passed, and then excused herself to join them. As soon as she approached, Junker’s hand slid from Ginny’s back around to her waist, pulling her in a little closer to Junker’s side. He held her tight as she tried to squirm away, refusing to let her go.

Ginny’s face burned in embarrassment, all too aware of the line of Glinda’s gaze as she took in Junker’s unprofessional hold. It didn’t matter that Ginny was covered from neck to toe in professional and tasteful robes. Glinda’s eyes made her feel as though she’d been caught in a state of undress with Junker’s hand up her skirt.

“Hi there, Ginny,” Glinda said, her smile firmly in place but brittle.

Ginny wanted to lower her eyes, hide her red cheeks and the shame that was written all over her face. Instead, cheeks blazing, she met Glinda’s eyes and stiffened her spine, but there was something humiliating about her pride, too. She didn’t want this woman to think Ginny was anything other than Jason Junker’s employee, and she never wanted to give the impression that she was proud of his hands on her. But she couldn’t bring herself to display her shame for all to see. She’d spent her whole first year of Hogwarts meek and fearful under Tom Riddle’s influence. She refused to revert to her eleven-year-old self because of a man like Junker.

“Hi. This is my supervisor, Jason Junker. Jason, this is Glinda Whithurst. She presented in one of the sessions I attended this morning.”

“An American!” Jason said, leaning closer with a conspiratorial smile. “How are you enjoying Paris?”

“About as well as the first time I visited, which is to say not as well as I enjoyed Rome, but better than Sydney.”

Junker rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s understandable. Australia is hardly a paragon of cultured or civilized society.”

Glinda’s smile became even more forced. “I enjoyed my stay there. It was just a bit too hot for me. May I borrow Ginny for a turn around the room?”

Ginny made sure the breath she released in relief when Junker let her go left her lips in silence, and pretended she didn’t hear when he said with a chummy and obnoxious grin, “Just make sure to return her back to me.”

Glinda nodded once and whisked Ginny away, slowing their pace only when they had put a good distance between Jason and themselves. They slowly weaved through throngs of people seeking available seats at the round dinner tables that littered the hall, strolling casually around the edge of the room and nodding and smiling in acknowledgement to people who greeted them in passing. Glinda didn’t say a word to Ginny and hardly looked at her.

The butterflies in Ginny’s stomach evolved into something larger and more ferocious the longer Glinda remained aloof toward her, until, finally, the nervous beast in Ginny’s belly could take no more. She stopped abruptly at the corner of the stage that dominated the front of the hall and turned on Glinda.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’ve got it all wrong.”

Glinda remained silent with her brows drawn together in disapproval, so Ginny, flummoxed by the lack of agreement or denial, continued talking.

“Jason doesn’t understand boundaries, and I’ve tried everything I can think of to establish them with him. He doesn’t listen. I’m not—I know how it looked, and I’m not his—I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Glinda said, her voice soft.

“No, it’s _not_ okay! None of it is okay. Nothing that has happened to me is _okay_.”

Glinda was silent for another moment as Ginny seethed, her chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. The prickling of tears at the corners of her eyes exacerbated her frustration, so she turned around and closed her eyes, attempting to suck the moisture back into her tear ducts by sheer force of will.

“That wasn’t what I meant, Ginny. Of course it’s not okay. I want to apologize to you.”

She hadn’t successfully stemmed the urge to cry yet, but her shock forced her to face Glinda again.

“Earlier today, you came to me for help. I see that now. I thought you were simply curious; I hadn’t realized there was more to your questions than you were saying. I’m sorry for not being more sympathetic this morning.”

She pulled her purse around and dug through it. “Here, take my card. You’ve got a look in your eye that I don’t like to see. Reminds me too much of my younger self. Take this, and if you need some advice, I’m your woman. I will never blame you or think badly of you.”

Ginny took the card between numb fingers, barely noticing the navy blue cardstock or gold-embossed lettering. She glanced at it and then away, back at Glinda.

Insurgent tears fell down her cheeks, disobeying direct orders and heedless of the consequences of their actions.

“Only three people know this is happening to me, and they’re all my friends,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone else would care or believe me.”

“I do. This is how I make my living. This is my passion. I don’t like seeing you or anyone like this. I know our governments and cultures are different, but I want to help in a nonprofessional capacity however I can.”

Ginny’s heart hammered against her ribs, a bead banging around the inside of a rattle in the grip of a hyperactive toddler. She took a moment to compose herself, to wipe her cheeks, steady herself with a few deep breaths.

“I do have one request.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t leave me alone with him tonight?”

Glinda smiled slow and warm, comforting Ginny without putting her hands on her in a gesture that Ginny suddenly realized was significant and important.

“Done. Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

For the rest of the night, Glinda was Ginny’s companion, accompanying her around the room, introducing her to acquaintances while both women met new ones. When dinner was served, she provided a buffer between Ginny and Jason by sitting between them and monopolizing Ginny’s attention with conversation.

By the time they returned to the hotel at the end of the evening, Junker was in a foul mood made worse by the alcohol he’d imbibed with dinner. He hovered over Ginny as she pushed the key into the door of her room, and though she tried to hurry, tried to ignore him, his hot breath on the top of her head made her hands shake.

He slid an arm around Ginny’s waist. “Ginerva,” he slurred.

Every muscle in her body froze instantly. Suddenly, her breath came faster, though she swore she’d already stopped breathing.

“Ginny-Gin-Gin. You’ve teased me for long enough.” His hand flattened against her stomach and pulled her against his body. Another hand snaked up her hip and along her arm, pushing aside the curtain of Ginny’s hair. Wet lips lowered to the juncture where shoulder met neck, and Ginny shuddered in horror, her mind absolutely blank and unable to process what was happening.

Junker misinterpreted her body’s reaction to his sloppy kisses and groaned. A moment later, he twisted her around in his embrace and shoved her against her own door, his mouth attacking hers.

“I always knew it would be like this,” he said. “I saw the way you always smiled at me. I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

“No!” Ginny’s hands came up, trying to push him off her, but his arms were a cage and immovable. Even drunk, he overpowered her too easily.

Junker grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the door next to her head and kissed her on the mouth. Undeterred when she turned her head away, he simply kissed a path along her cheek and down her neck, leaving a slobbery trail on her skin.

Ginny’s whole body trembled now. Tears poured down her cheeks. Why hadn’t she made her wand more accessible? Why hadn’t she left dinner before Junker? Why had she ever agreed to go on this trip? Why hadn’t she been smarter or faster or stronger?

“No! Please!” she cried, twisting her wrists to try to loosen them from his iron grip.

“Yes, yes, beg me,” he said, his head dropping lower, his kisses branding Ginny through layers of robes just over her racing heart and quickly detouring to her breast.

The door crashed open behind her, tossing Ginny onto the floor and ejecting Junker fifteen feet backwards. The astringent scent of a powerful, magical blast stung her nose as she scrambled to her feet and threw herself into her hotel room. A broken lock caused the door to swing back open, so Ginny threw herself against the door until she could locate her wand inside a hidden pocket of her robes to repair it.

Door fixed, locks engaged, wards set, Ginny then barricaded herself in the room. She stood the mattress upright, blocking both the door and the window. Only after the room was sufficiently secured did she fall down to the floor against a far wall and sob into her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. After six and a half months, it's a Christmas miracle!! I am so so so sorry, but thank you so much for your patience, and especially thank you to Ha'niqua and Wordmover for beta-ing this chapter!  
> 2\. As you can probably tell, this story is not Fantastic Beasts-compliant. I've opted instead to call the American wizarding government FBoM, which originates from [a comment by elvendork on this Tumblr post](http://idreamofdraco.tumblr.com/post/144272325657/dalekofchaos-elvendork-sometimesophie). Non-magical folk are called Muggles in the US because I am unoriginal and didn't want to use no-maj. *shrug emoji*  
> 3\. Glinda Whithurst is from the American South and discusses American EEO laws because that's where I live and that's what I know. The information about these laws comes from the harassment training I'm required to complete annually for work.  
> 4\. No offense to Australia. I'm sure it's a lovely country, the wildlife from hell notwithstanding. :)  
> 5\. I am not completely happy with this chapter, but I needed to get it out, so if it's lackluster to any of you, just know it is even more lackluster to me. I will not make any promises about how soon the next chapter will be posted, but I've probably got about 1/3 of it complete. Thank you for reading, thank you again for your patience, and reviews appreciated! I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas (or a great weekend, if you don't observe the holiday) and a Happy New Year!


	15. An Unsuccessful Meeting

Ginny had dozed fitfully throughout the night, every noise jolting her awake in fear Junker had come back and was trying to get in her room. By five in the morning, she had given up on sleep and uncurled herself from the floor. The few things she had unpacked, she tossed into her overnight bag, and then she turned in her key at the front desk. 

She found a deserted alley a couple streets down from the hotel and Disapparated, reappearing with a faint _pop_ in the shadow of the Gare du Nord, the train station that serviced train lines between Paris and London. There weren’t many people around, and inside the station there were even fewer. The lack of people made Ginny skittish and uncomfortable out in the open. She didn’t think Junker had followed her, but her desire to be home again, to have Draco at her side, urged her to hurry.

The entrance to the wizarding platform was hidden on the second floor, between two decorative columns built into the wall. It only took three tries for Ginny to find the right columns on the right part of the walls, but, finally, she found herself on the other side.

Junker still had her ticket voucher, so Ginny had to purchase her own ticket home, which was fine with her. She would eat the fifteen Galleons to return home early if it meant she wouldn’t have to spend one more second with her supervisor in a foreign country without her friends or family to protect her. Without Draco to support her. 

She missed Draco, now more than ever. She felt, as the train pulled out of the station at 7:14 AM, she had taken him for granted these past few weeks. There were moments when she had doubted his commitment to the charade, but over the last few days, she had come to rely on him in a way she had never anticipated.

 _Accept it for what it is,_ a voice inside her said. She stared out the window at the blurring landscape as the train picked up speed, trying to smother the thought, trying _not_ to put a name to what had happened between her and Draco.

Even though she hadn’t slept the night before and she was safer from Junker than she’d been since before leaving for Paris two days ago, she couldn’t fall asleep now. Her mind raced. She imagined what she would do if Draco met her at King’s Cross. She’d told him to stay away, and he didn’t know she would be returning this early, so there was no possibility of him meeting her at the platform. But she tried to imagine _what if he did_?

She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to be there or not. A part of her loathed the idea of him doing the opposite of what she had asked him to do, even if it had been a demand supported by a threat. If he was there, that meant he didn’t respect her wishes or her independence. If he showed up at King’s Cross to meet her, that meant he only cared about himself. And, honestly, the next man who crossed her was going to be sorry, whether he was Draco or one of her brothers or a friend or a stranger. After Junker’s assault last night, Ginny could hardly look at men. The thought of them as a gender sent a tremor of rage down her spine. Her hands tightened around both armrests, and she clenched her eyes shut, trying to swallow the sudden revulsion.

She didn’t want to be like this. She didn’t want to become a creature full of fear and loathing. She didn’t want to constantly live on the precipitous edge of defensiveness. She would only get hurt, and she would probably hurt someone close to her, too, someone too male for their own good.

Ginny’s rage ran so deep, she couldn’t even imagine a positive scenario in which she found Draco waiting for her at Platform 7 ½. For his own sake, she hoped he’d heeded her warning and left her to deal with Paris alone.

The train rolled into the station by 8:40, and as she disembarked, Ginny couldn’t stop herself from scanning the platform for a familiar flash of silver-blond hair. She stood still and waited for a moment, as if expecting him to materialize out of the crowd, but no one came for her. Relief, and the tiniest smidge of disappointment, coursed through Ginny’s body as she Disapparated.

But she didn’t go home. No, instead, she reappeared outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, the iron bars imposing and spiked to deter visitors. All night long and throughout the train ride, while flirting with exhaustion, Ginny had tried not to think about Draco and what he was to her. Her disappointment at his absence at King’s Cross, slight as it had been, had forced her to finally accept her feelings.

Draco Malfoy was a royal git. Not just a git, but also a bully, a blood supremacist, an elitist, a Death Eater. At least, he had been those things over three years ago.

He was also vulnerable in a way she had never expected, and given every opportunity to take advantage of Ginny and her situation with Junker, he had chosen to be decent. Ginny had never imagined that she could feel safe with him, but she did, safer than she’d ever felt with her supervisor. He respected her boundaries, even though she was sure he wouldn’t have in their past. He’d listened to her, supported her, opened himself up to her.

Ginny was the one who had thrown herself at him multiple times. None of his touches had strayed below the belt. He had always been respectful of her body.

The fact that he had not followed her to Paris had required Ginny to admit what she had been so afraid to admit before: she loved him. She was probably a colossal moron to fall for him, and maybe her desperation and fear of Junker had fueled the emotion, but she could deny it no more.

Ginny loved Draco.

Even now, just thinking the words made her heart race, her blood surge and sing. Her whole body came to life, warming on its own despite the biting chill. Her hands in their gloves felt bereft without his fingers intertwined with hers. Her lips ached for their next kiss.

So here she was at the gates of Malfoy Manor to—to what? Tell him? No. She couldn’t do that. He’d laugh in her face. He’d remind her of the rules _she_ had laid out before they’d begun their fake relationship. He’d tell her she was mistaken. He’d reject her. No, she hadn’t stopped here to confess. She’d made the split decision to come here to confirm her feelings. Maybe if she got another look at him, outside of work, while the threat of Junker was far away from her in another country, maybe she could figure out if these feelings were true or just a product of her gratitude.

Maybe if she saw him, he could return to her the sense of safety she’d lost last night.

The iron gates swung open to admit Ginny, and all the way down the drive, she tried to ignore her pounding heart, tried to calm it and the blood surging in her veins. She hadn’t felt like this since Hogwarts, when her infatuation with Harry had been strongest. Her fledgling love for Harry had been exciting because _he_ had been exciting. A hero! More specifically, _her_ hero. And even though his attempt hadn’t worked, Draco, too, had tried to save Ginny as well.

An indelicate snort escaped her. Ginny clearly had a thing for selfless rescuers.

She took a deep breath. And then several more. What was she doing? As soon as she saw Draco’s face, she was going to spill all of these feelings in front of him without warning. No, she was an adult now. She could be mature about this. She would not let her feelings overwhelm her.

Besides, the gate had already closed behind her and she was halfway up the drive. There was no turning back now.

For the rest of her walk, she gripped the strap of her overnight bag and focused on her breathing. At the door, she lifted her hand to grip the door knocker, but, once again, the entrance opened before her without prompting.

Narcissa Malfoy stood on the threshold, her fine features pulled downward in an expression of distaste.

“Come to join us for breakfast?” she asked, her voice firm but also delicate, like she’d been bred to ooze dislike underneath a facade of etiquette. Narcissa eyed Ginny’s bag hanging off her shoulder. “Or perhaps you are moving in?”

Ginny could face Narcissa Malfoy. She could. And Draco was somewhere on the other side of the door to help her, if Ginny could just get invited in.

“I came to speak to Draco.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows rose, though Ginny didn’t understand what was shocking about her statement. Why else would Ginny show up on the front steps of Malfoy Manor if not to see the man charading as her boyfriend?

The door opened wider. “Then by all means. Come in.”

Ginny nearly sighed in relief, thankful that this hadn’t been a bigger battle. As she entered Malfoy Manor, she thought perhaps Draco’s mother was more reasonable than he’d let on.

Behind her, the door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the entrance hall all too similar to the rasp and thud of a guillotine separating a neck from its shoulders.

Narcissa led her down the hall and through a set of pocket doors into a lavish dining room, dominated by a long cherry wood table. She claimed the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Ginny to take a seat with a dismissive wave of her hand. Food appeared before them, two plates steaming with toast, sausage, and decadent omelettes as well as glasses of water and grapefruit juice and cups of coffee.

Ginny hadn’t actually thought she’d been invited to breakfast. She eyed the length of the table, noticing the lack of a third place setting. Perhaps she had taken Draco’s spot.

“I must admit I am surprised to see you here,” Narcissa said.

“Draco didn’t know I was coming, either. It was a… spontaneous decision.”

“A whim.”

“Er…”

Narcissa took a sip of her coffee. “He should be at work right now.” She spat the word ‘work’ as if it was poison on her tongue.

Ginny’s stomach sank. Her lack of sleep and her desperation had caused her to forget about work entirely, which meant this trip had been for nothing and she’d subjected herself to Narcissa Malfoy’s unpleasantness for no reason.

She pushed her chair back and stood, eager to take her leave, to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for the rest of the day. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I’ve just come back from a work trip, see, and I forgot—”

_“Sit.”_

Ginny did, but only because she’d already come this far. She stared at Narcissa and Narcissa stared back, her gaze assessing as she sipped her coffee.

“Are you pregnant?”

Ginny’s eyes widened in horror and shock at the implication, but Narcissa never blinked, as if this had been a reasonable question. Though maybe it was to her.

“No! Of course not!”

“I had to ask. Why else would you ensnare my son?”

Ginny’s mouth fell open, speechless. It was clear Narcissa thought very little of Ginny and her motivations, but ensnare? Did she really think Ginny was some kind of cunning temptress trying to lure the Malfoy heir out of his fortune?

“I haven’t _ensnared_ him! He had a choice and he chose to be with me. He had his reasons.”

Narcissa leaned forward and gently set her coffee cup down. Her head tilted to the side, considering Ginny.

“And what were your reasons for choosing him?”

“Those are private.”

“Oh, no, my dear.” Narcissa’s smile was all teeth, and Ginny’s hand nearly rose to her neck in an attempt to protect her jugular. “No, no. Privacy is a luxury of common citizens whose reasons for anything they do are too inconsequential for anyone to care about. If you think the nature of your relationship with my son should remain private, you are in the wrong relationship.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, teeth clenched in agitation, “I misspoke. I meant to say my reasons are _personal_. Draco is in no danger from me. I do not want or need your money. I chose Draco—I keep choosing him—because he is good to me. There’s one of my reasons for you.”

“I simply find it too hard to believe that Draco can be good to you without giving you anything of monetary value.”

Ginny stood up now, her temper, which had been simmering since Narcissa’s first implication, flaring at the crude attacks against her character.

“If that’s too hard for you to believe, then you must not know your son at all. The things that I value cannot be bought, and Draco gives them in abundance. He’s a good man, and he deserves to be happy.”

She threw her bag over her shoulder and decided to let herself out of the manor, leaving Narcissa at the table, even though she knew Narcissa was the one still in control of this situation. Ginny wasn’t dismissing Narcissa with her departure; Narcissa was dismissing Ginny by not seeing her to the door.

Just before Ginny passed through the pocket doors, Narcissa called out.

“Happiness is another luxury afforded only to the common citizenry. Draco would do well to remember his obligations.”

Ginny paused, turned, met the woman’s icy blue eyes.

“As it just so happens, Mrs. Malfoy, I’m one of Draco’s obligations. Good day.”

The pocket doors slid shut behind her as Ginny stormed out.

o o o o

Love, Draco knew, was weakness.

As he’d found out at the age of sixteen, love could be used against you. When he’d been branded with the Dark Mark, he’d had two goals: first, to earn glory as neither of his parents had been able to achieve, and second, to protect his parents from harm. He couldn’t deny that his own thirst for power and recognition had lead him to accept the Dark Lord’s mission to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. To deny it would be a lie. To deny it would be cowardly in a way that Draco never had been (and he couldn’t deny his own cowardice, either).

But the Dark Lord had known that Draco cared for his parents, so instead of promising Draco power or honor, he had threatened him in order to force Draco to comply with his wishes. He needn’t have. Draco would have accepted the mission regardless. But the Dark Lord had manipulated his weakness, his love for his parents, and used it against him to bend Draco to his will.

Draco felt now as he’d felt that night when he’d been summoned before the Dark Lord and offered a mission laced with the promise of riches untold in the event of success and death in the event of failure. He felt stretched between two impossible choices and sick with the impossibility of them.

He could go to Paris to give Ginny his support and lose her respect (and his bollocks) in the process, or he could stay in England and let her deal with Jason Junker on her own, possibly putting her in harm’s way. It was no choice because the mad pounding of his heart, the silly hitch in his breath, the love he carried in his veins for her demanded that he do whatever he could to help her.

But he knew she didn’t want that. Not from him. Not from anyone. He couldn’t even tell her friends about her situation, or he risked losing her entirely.

What kind of choice was that to make? She had unknowingly manipulated him, taken advantage of him and his love for her. If he didn’t love her, he wouldn’t now be agonizing over his decision. He wished he could squash this emotion or put it back from wherever it had come.

The only consolation to be had was in the fact that she hadn’t told him not to confide in Colin. So Draco once again found himself in a ladies’ out of order loo, pacing back and forth in front of said ghost.

“Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?”

Colin floated above the sink, brow furrowed in concern as he watched Draco wear a path in the floor. “I don’t know. I’m just a sixteen-year-old kid.”

“What, you’ve never been in love before?”

Colin’s cheeks darkened with a ghostly blush. “I don’t know if it was _love_ , exactly. Infatuation? Idolization? Definitely.” If Draco had been paying attention, he would have seen Colin’s ears darken as well.

“Why does it hurt so much?”

“Your tiny, shriveled heart has grown three sizes this day!”

Draco stopped and turned to stare at Colin in frustration. “What does that even mean?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “It means, for the first time in your life, you care about someone selflessly. You care about Ginny’s safety and well-being and sanity, and you can’t deny it any longer, like you’ve been doing for weeks now.”

The smugness in Colin’s voice was almost unbearable. Only almost because Draco recognized that Colin was right—had always been right. Telling Colin he was right would only make him more smug, and would have been redundant anyway, so he ignored Colin’s comment.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course you can! You’re her best friend. You would know better than anyone what she needs.”

Colin was shaking his head before Draco had even finished speaking. “I can’t tell you what to do because you already know. Ginny already told you what she wants—and that’s exactly what she needs, too.”

A growl rumbled through the bathroom as Draco paced and wrung his hands together.

“Besides,” Colin added, “I’m already dead, but I still wouldn’t want to be on Ginny’s bad side. If I deliberately ignored her wishes, I could lose her as a friend.”

That made Draco stop and close his eyes while he sighed. “You’re right, of course.”

“That bugs you, doesn’t it?”

Ignoring the ghost’s wide grin, Draco spun around to face his reflection in the mirror. If he couldn’t go to France, there must have been something else he could do for Ginny. Some way to support her while allowing her to continue standing on her own.

“I think I know what I can do.” He voiced the thought that had suddenly come to him, explaining the general idea of it as Colin nodded along.

“I don’t know how successful that endeavor will be, but it’s a start. I don’t think Ginny can object to it. What do you need me to do?”

“Get me a meeting with the former Head of the Spirit Division.”

o o o o

Stephanie Wilcox stared at Draco over her desk, her eyes both dubious and wary. Ever since the end of the war, Draco had become familiar with such expressions when people looked his way, so the woman’s reaction to him rolled off his back for the most part.

Sometimes, especially in situations such as these when Draco went out of his way to do something selfless for someone else (few and far between as those situations were), he couldn’t help but feel the sting of those suspicious glances. Perhaps he deserved them, even though he’d worked tirelessly since his acquittal to change society’s perception of his family—and him especially. Maybe he would endure such treatment until he died. It still stung when he let himself think about it, though.

“Come to complain about your Knight Bus service?” Stephanie asked.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Actually, we’re here about Jason Junker,” Colin said.

Stephanie leaned back in her chair, her eyes widening for a moment before her expression shuttered. Her lips thinned as she pressed them together, as if holding back something bitter-tasting and foul.

“We heard—”

“What did you hear?” she interrupted with a snarl.

Colin, more serious than Draco had ever seen him, answered. “Ever since he became Head of the Spirit Division, he’s been harassing Ginny. I know he’s the reason you left. Your friend Seraphina told me, and I’ve, er, seen him. Stalking you.”

How a woman’s face could drain of all color and flush simultaneously, Draco couldn’t comprehend, but somehow Stephanie managed it. She crumpled in her chair, her head falling into one of her hands.

“I didn’t know… I thought it would end when I left. I didn’t know he would go after someone else after me. What does this have to do with you, Malfoy?”

This time when she directed her wary gaze at him, Draco understood it for what it was. Maybe she didn’t trust Draco because of who he was and what he’d done, but more than that, Draco was a man, which also made him a threat.

“Ginny is my girlfriend. Junker knows we’ve been seeing each other for the last few weeks, but he still won’t leave her alone. I’m… afraid for her. He needs to be stopped.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“She can’t do this by herself. She needs other people to step forward with her, to share their experiences. There must be more women Junker has harassed. You must have heard stories.”

Stephanie’s brow creased, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “Does Ginny even want to act against Jason? If she did, wouldn’t she be here instead of you? It seems to me, Mr. Malfoy, that you’ve taken it upon yourself to do what you think is the right thing, and nevermind what the women affected by this situation want.”

Draco flushed in outrage. “No, that’s not—”

“If Ginny is as threatened by Jason as you say she is, she’d be here. But maybe it’s _you_ who feels threatened by him. I will not work with you behind Ginny’s back. You’re only going to get her fired.”

“But she’s in trouble!” Colin said at the same time Draco, teeth clenched together, asked, “Don’t you want justice for what you went through?”

Stephanie’s back was straight and her face was cold as she answered, her earlier despair at hearing the news of Junker harassing new women now gone. “I was lucky to get another job here at the Ministry as quickly as I did, even if I had to take a pay cut to get it. I don’t want to make waves. I just want to do my job in peace, and now I can because Jason doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Draco stood up, and, taking his cue, Colin floated out of his chair as well. “You’re a coward, and you’re condemning another woman, a _good_ woman, to Junker’s threatening behavior.”

Stephanie joined them standing and braced herself on her desk as she lowered her voice and said, “Don’t you ever talk about this situation as if you understand it. Look at you: you’re practically a war criminal—even if you weren’t convicted, everyone knows you are—but you’re a man and you’re white and you have more money than anyone who works in this building, so you didn’t have to fight for the job you have now.

“When I started working at the Ministry, I fetched coffee and organized documents while men with more power and money than me pinched my bottom and commented on every aspect of my appearance, and I had to pretend to be grateful for the attention, otherwise they thought I was an uptight bitch and got scolded for it. I clawed my way out of that position to a managerial role of my own. Me! Head of a whole division, supervisor of six people, and not even thirty years old yet. Then I was forced out of that position by a man, because I knew from experience that no one would take my concerns or fear seriously. So to protect myself and my career, I got another job, one that turned out to be a demotion. But I knew that would happen, because outspoken women who don’t play the game by men’s rules are punished at best, kicked out of the game at worst. And then I had to watch as that man was rewarded with my old job, even though there were four other women with more experience than him working in that office, but that’s just a fact of life for women in the working world.

“So don’t condescend to me, Malfoy. Don’t call me a coward. Don’t you _dare_.”

She sat down, leaving Draco and Colin standing speechless in front of her desk. Draco’s outrage had drained out of him as Stephanie had gone on, but he was starting to get angry again, though not at her.

“Get out of my office, both of you. I don’t want to see either of you here again,” she said, her words sharp and clipped in agitation. Her eyes screamed of a rage that had been burning inside her for years, and Draco remembered weeks and weeks ago, just after he and Ginny began their fake relationship, when Ginny had come to his office and tried to provoke him and he’d transfigured a filing cabinet into a dueling dummy for her use.

He never wanted to see that kind of anger and pain in Ginny’s eyes again.

He kept his mouth shut as he and Colin filed out of the office and silently returned to Draco’s.

“Well,” Colin said, voice low and defeated. “That did not go as expected.”

“I think that was the problem.” Colin’s eyebrow arched in question. “We should have expected that reaction. Who are we to that woman that she would listen to us? If she hadn’t fought back against Junker before, she must have had her own reasons, and two men charging into her office and demanding her to fight was not going to change her mind about those reasons.”

Colin’s shoulders slumped. “So it’s hopeless then?”

Silence reigned throughout the office, the desks of Draco’s two coworkers sitting empty as they usually did. One had left more than an hour ago to fulfill a Floo maintenance request while the other was performing an installation. However, Draco suspected they fabricated half of their service requests so they wouldn’t have to sit in an office with Draco for long stretches of time.

He tapped his fingers on his thigh as he considered the situation, but he was distracted by his colleagues’ absences, by the last argument he’d had with his mother, the look on Stephanie's face as she’d defended herself against Draco’s judgment. If Ginny and Stephanie couldn’t do this alone, he and Colin certainly couldn’t do it for them.

“No,” he finally said, suppressing a sigh of exhaustion and concern. “I think it’s time we have a talk with Ginny, though.”

He met Colin’s eyes and saw the same worry there. He, too, couldn’t stand to see Ginny turn into someone as angry and defensive as Stephanie. Unfortunately, Ginny was already there. She’d blown up at both of them at some point over the last few weeks. It was imperative that they now gave her all the information she needed, everything Colin had seen as he’d kept an eye on Junker, even if that information frightened her. She didn’t know the extent of Junker’s persistence (Or did she? Junker had, after all, orchestrated a work assignment that would send Ginny to Paris with him.). She didn’t know that once Junker selected a target, he never gave up on that target.

Once she’d been equipped with the truth of the situation, Draco and Colin could then allay her fears as best as they could and support her however she needed to be supported.

Stephanie had been right. Keeping Ginny in the dark, working behind her back, that was no way to go about exposing Junker’s behavior.

They needed to be a team, because together they could accomplish anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The train Ginny takes from Paris back to London is modeled after the Eurostar train line, which actually runs between London St. Pancras and Paris Gare du Nord stations. I've opted for the wizarding version to go to King's Cross instead of St. Pancras.
> 
> Colin references How the Grinch Stole Christmas with his comment about Draco's heart growing three sizes. :)
> 
> Next chapter we'll see Draco and Ginny reunite!!!
> 
> Reviews appreciated!


	16. A Belated Union (Part One)

On Thursday morning, Draco did a double-take just before the lift doors closed as he spotted Jason Junker with the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Lark Scamander.

Ginny had given him a tentative time frame for her return from Paris, but some part of him had still expected her to send him a quick note so he’d know she was all right.

Maybe she wasn’t all right, though. Maybe something had happened in Paris. Maybe Junker had offed Ginny and stashed her body— 

He shook his head, and the woman standing next to him glanced at him nervously before taking a sideward step away. She pressed a button for a new floor and departed the lift as soon as the doors slid open, and two more people took her place.

Maybe Junker had come back from the conference and left Ginny there. Maybe she’d caught a flu and was currently laid up in bed?

Or maybe she was sitting in her cubicle right now, too energized from her trip away to have thought to inform Draco of her return. Never mind that she had no obligation to tell him anything. It’s not like they were really in a relationship, but they _were_ partners, a team, and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Draco exited the lift on Level Four, and he tried not to think too much about what he was doing as he entered the Spirit Division and made his way to Ginevra’s cubicle.

Empty.

He looked a little closer, examining her desk in particular, but it didn’t look like anything had been moved since he’d visited last, when he’d discovered her letter and learned she’d traipsed off to Paris with her lecherous supervisor.

“She sent a message that she was going to be out for the rest of the week,” a woman at the entrance of Ginny’s cubicle said.

Draco remembered her from work tales Ginny had told him. This was the gossip of the Spirit Division. “Rose, right?”

She smiled in delight at being recognized.

“Can you tell me when she returned from the conference?”

Rose shrugged. “Jason was back at work yesterday, but Ginny hasn’t made it in yet. Must’ve eaten something bad over there.” She said the words _over there_ in a softer tone, as if the name of the country was as Taboo as the Dark Lord’s had been during the height of the war.

Draco tried, and failed, not to read too much into Rose’s comment, but he couldn’t stop his face from crumpling in revulsion.

“I know,” Rose said, nodding sympathetically, “French cuisine is the worst, isn’t it?”

Draco made a noncommittal sound and shoved past Rose to return to his office. He spent the rest of the day in a distracted haze, sometimes punctuated by blinding anger that sent all of the carefully organized scrolls on his desk flying skyward. By lunchtime, his coworkers, who had the misfortune of desk duty that day, had grown tired of Draco’s antics and manufactured service requests that would keep them busy and out of the office for the rest of the afternoon.

Draco had no such relief. The hours after lunch seemed to drag by even slower. He would have even welcomed Creevey as a distraction, but, for once, the ghost was nowhere to be found.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, Draco had imagined ten different scenarios that explained why Ginny had taken the rest of the week off, ranging from _because she could_ to a scenario too heinous to put into words. So he didn’t let himself think of the worst case. Instead, he left a contract mid-sentence and rushed down to the Atrium, and then he Apparated directly onto Ginny’s doorstep, Muggle witnesses be damned.

His heart echoed his desperate knock, pounding ever louder in his ears until he heard the turn of a manual lock from inside. The door cracked open, revealing a sliver of a freckled face and one brown eye.

Then the door opened wider, and there Ginny was, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe as well as a shocked expression. A sense of deja vu hit Draco, until he remembered a similar scene a few weeks ago, when he had shown up at Ginny’s flat to take her out to dinner to discuss the kiss she’d forced upon him in front of a crowd of Ministry employees. It felt like their first unofficial date had been so long ago. How had he come to love someone—especially this woman—in such a short time?

“Draco?”

“You weren’t at work today.”

She watched him warily, but Draco must have defensively triggered his Occlumency because he suddenly didn’t feel anything. Merlin knew what kind of expression his face had twisted into. Merlin knew how she interpreted what she saw.

She sighed and took a step to the side. “No. Come in, won’t you?”

He swept past her when she reached out to take his cloak and found himself in her eclectic living area filled with junk she’d lovingly made and/or collected. Now when he looked at her home, he saw curated pieces gifted to her by the people she loved, not garbage. A hand-knitted throw sat bunched up in an armchair, as if she spent time there reading or knitting herself. Lumpy glazed vases and sculptures stood crookedly proud on every available flat surface. Wooden knick knacks held together with twine and feathers, as well as colorful abstract paintings, decorated the walls.

Draco wondered what he could possibly contribute to her living space. What could he give her that would remind her of him?

“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked, a cautious distance between them as she hovered close to the kitchen, her eyes wary and attentive as she observed him ogling her belongings. 

There wasn’t enough space between them to alleviate the tension. Maybe Draco was the source of it, since he’d carried the anxious energy with him all day long, but Ginny was nervous, and that added to the unease. Her gaze didn’t still for long before she sought something new to keep her attention, and her fingers, peeking out of the sleeves of her bathrobe, drummed against the sides of her legs. She didn’t look happy to see him.

“I saw Junker at work today, but not you. Your coworker told me you were going to be out for the rest of the week.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

He was ready for a flash of anger and an insistence that she was an independent woman and an adult who didn’t need to check in with her pretend boyfriend every time she so much as breathed. He expected it, and he steeled himself against it, steeled his heart from being bruised by her dismissal of his concern for her, however poorly he expressed it.

But she didn’t do what he expected her to do, and Draco could have laughed because, honestly, had he really expected her to be predictable?

“I didn’t know how,” she said. “I didn’t want to worry you, but I also didn’t think you’d care.”

Silence joined the tension between them as Draco digested her response, his stomach flipping, falling, hollow. She thought he wouldn’t care? Had he been that good at pretending there was nothing between them, or was she blind? When he couldn’t take the silence anymore, when he desperately needed answers, he asked, “Why? What have I done to make you think I wouldn’t care?”

She took a step closer. “Nothing! It’s just—” She huffed, her breath disturbing a strand of hair framing her face. “I don’t know, okay? I was ashamed that I’d put myself in such a situation, and I thought you were going to be angry about the way I left. And I didn’t want to admit to you that I was wrong. But I was. I can’t do this alone.”

Draco closed the distance between them, rending the tension in two, forcing both of them to acknowledge it. His hands lifted, thoughtlessly reaching for her to pull her closer or just to touch her, he wasn’t sure. At the last minute, he jerked them away and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Did something happen?”

Her eyes slid closed and she took a deep breath, one that suffocated Draco’s heart, stealing his own breath right out of his lungs. He was going to kill Jason Junker. Draco’s hands trembled, dying to strangle him, forgoing his wand altogether. For this duel, he would have no satisfaction from a spell. Only pounding fists and blood running free on Draco’s knuckles would appease him.

Ginny’s hand rested on Draco’s elbow, the calm warmth of her slicing through the heat of his all-consuming rage. Her brown eyes were hard, but they were tear-free. The emotion Draco felt was there in her own eyes, multiplied by ten. Her touch should have placated him, but his fear stoked his anger and would not be cooled by a simple touch.

“I’m fine. He attacked me, but I lost control of my magic and it pushed him away from me before—before anything else happened.”

Before he could stop himself, Draco had taken her hand in his, clutching it in a tight grip. “Define ‘attacked’.”

She shoved him, her own anger coming out in full force. “He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t want to talk about what he did. It made me uncomfortable enough to prompt me to leave Paris early, and I haven’t been to work because I can’t bear to see him so soon.”

“How am I supposed to have any peace of mind if—”

Before he could utter the next word, Ginny was on him, her hand covering his lips, a roiling storm threatening to break in the depths of her eyes. 

“Do not finish that sentence. I’m telling you that I’m fine and _that_ should give you peace of mind. I do not have to relive my assault to you so you can—what? Determine if the severity of the action justifies the use of that word for yourself? Figure out if I really was assaulted or if I just misinterpreted an innocent touch? Don’t you dare make this about you, and don’t victimize yourself over what happens to me. I can see it in your eyes. You’re taking what Junker did personally because I’m attached to you. Don’t do it, Draco. I won’t thank you or forgive you for it.”

Is that what Draco had been doing? He cared about Ginny. He was scared for her. And, yes, there was a part of him that kicked himself for not being there to protect her from Junker. His fear for her was justified, but his anger? What provoked it?

She watched him as he came to terms with his emotions, refusing to look away until she was satisfied with his control. But Draco had never felt more out of control. It came to him suddenly why he was so affected by what happened to Ginny—and the realization sickened him. He stumbled back, turned away, ashamed of himself and unwilling to let her see that emotion in him.

Yes, the anger stemmed from Draco’s fear and his inability to protect Ginny, but underneath that, inside the flame that fueled his temper, there was a possessiveness that Draco didn’t like. Jason Junker had touched something that was Draco’s; he’d tried to lay claim to the woman Draco loved, as if she didn’t already belong in some way to Draco.

He was no better than Jason Junker.

Horror replaced his anger instantaneously. How could he feel this way? How could he act this way? Like Junker, Draco had no right to Ginny, whether they were in a real relationship or not. Jealousy was an ugly, hateful emotion, but this feeling he harbored—which had intensified ever since Ginny left for Paris—this was worse.

“I’m—”

“No,” Ginny said, her voice right behind him now. She slid her arms around his torso and rested her cheek against his back, squeezing in a firm hug. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I feel like I do.”

“Well, I’m telling you you don’t.” Her voice was slightly muffled against his cloak, but, like her body, it was warm against him and penetrated through the layers of his clothes until she might as well have spoken against bare skin. “I told you not to come to Paris, and you listened to me. I said ‘don’t’, and you didn’t. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, even if I did regret my own stubbornness and wish you had ignored me.”

Draco’s breathing raked out of him, sounding loud in the quiet that accompanied Ginny’s words. “You did?”

She stepped back as he turned around, her face flushed, her eyes lowered. “I missed you.”

Draco’s stuttering heart could have stopped beating right then and he wouldn’t have noticed. His gaze remained intent on the top of Ginny’s head. It was only because her gaze was averted that he was able to reciprocate.

“I missed you, too. You’ve no idea how worried I was.”

Her head lifted, a tentative smile stretching across her lips. “You were?”

“Yes!” Draco hissed. “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t care!”

“Do you really?” She took a step closer, her grin evolving into something feline and mischievous.

Slender, freckled arms slipped around Draco’s neck, tugging him closer to an all too enticing body, even covered as it was in faded pajamas and a ratty bathrobe. He hardly saw the garments she wore. There were more important things: the sparkle in her brown eyes, the way her lips trembled in her attempt to temper her smile, the freckles that dotted her nose like the blanket of stars they’d observed together just this past weekend. Her hair was piled and clipped to the top of her head, and without consciously thinking about it, Draco released it from its confines. It fell below her shoulders, wavy and delightfully ginger.

She was home and safe and smiling, and she’d never looked better to him.

“Yes,” he said, the word an exhalation. “I care more than I should.”

“Says who?”

Draco couldn’t stop staring at her lips as she tilted her head upwards. A test or an invitation? “You. Your rules.”

“Fuck my rules.” Then she raised up on her toes and pressed her lips against his.

It was strange how quickly Draco had grown accustomed to Ginny Weasley’s kisses. His body surged, shuddered in relief, as if he hadn’t been able to breathe, hadn’t been able to relax, since their last kiss only five days ago. He felt like a man returning to a vice for comfort, even knowing that indulging himself would incur consequences later. All of his previous objections, every reason he knew this was wrong, left him as Ginny crushed her body to his and twined her fingers within his hair, tugging until they were as close to each other as they could be while still fully clothed. 

Drunk on her kisses, Draco could only hold onto her for fear of stumbling, though the idea of pulling her to the ground with him had some merit. A dangerous thought, that. The fact that it even crossed his mind had Draco pulling away, holding Ginny at a distance.

“What’s wrong?” A frown creased her forehead, lining it with confusion.

Draco wanted nothing more than to pull her against him, to kiss her breathless, to remove every stitch of clothing she wore in order to pepper kisses all over her body. A stirring below the waist approved of that thought, and Draco knew he was right to stop because he couldn’t trust his body to think for him. That’s how men like Jason Junker got away with victimizing women. That’s how men the world over justified their lewd behavior.

“We shouldn’t.”

When he didn’t explain immediately, her eyebrows slanted over the bridge of her nose, her confusion deepening. “It’s just a kiss, Draco.”

“It’s not just a kiss to me!” It was more. It was a promise, a promise he was certain she didn’t really want from him. A promise not to hurt her, a promise to respect her, a promise to honor her. They had to stop because Draco wanted too badly to promise her all those things, and he couldn’t bear the thought that she didn’t want the same in return.

Ginny blanched, her whole frame shuddering as a soft, _“Oh,”_ fell from her lips. She took a step backward and tripped, falling onto her worn sofa.

Draco stood over her, filled with emotion but maintaining his aloofness as best as he could. Draco wasn’t the kind of man his mother expected him to be, and he wasn’t a man like Junker or his senior classmates back at Hogwarts. As much as Draco hated losing control, he had learned over the years that he was not the kind of man who easily wielded it, either. What kind of man did Ginny Weasley wish him to be? He didn’t want to find out lest he disappoint her and humiliate himself.

“Weeks ago, you told me we would not repeat our first kiss. You told me I should have no expectations of sleeping with you.”

Ginny’s expression cleared, her lips rising in a relieved smile. “Yes, but everything’s cha—”

“I, too, told you not to have any expectations of sleeping with me. Do you remember?”

Her nose crinkled as she tried to recall, but Draco remembered clearly what they’d said that night over dinner.

_“No matter how much either of us enjoyed the last kiss, there won’t be any others. No kissing, and don’t expect to sleep with me, because it’s not going to happen.”_

_“Only if you rid yourself of any notions of sleeping with me as well.”_

At the time, he’d meant it to unsettle Ginny, to chide her for making assumptions about Draco’s motivations in accepting her request for aid. But he recognized now that part of him had truly meant it. Fucking Ginny, as much as Draco wanted it, would be a disaster, and if there was anything he knew how to do, it was protect himself from disaster.

He saw it in her face when the memory came to her, because her lips parted in an ‘O’ of surprise, and she looked up at him slowly, her eyes wide and full of regret.

“Draco, I’m so sorry.”

What in Slytherin’s name could she possibly be sorry for?

She looked stricken now, her cheeks splotchy with emotion. “You _told_ me how your Housemates pressured you, harassed you, forced you into conversations and situations you wanted no part of. And here I am throwing myself at you! Ignoring what _you_ want. That’s all I’ve done with you, isn’t it? I told you there’d be no snogging, and what did I do? I snogged you on numerous occasions without once thinking of how it would make you feel. I—I’m no better than Junker. In fact, I’m _worse_. It took Junker months to make an attempt to kiss me. But me?” She laughed bitterly. “Me? This whole relationship began with me accosting you at work. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“No, that’s not—”

“How could I possibly entertain the idea that I love you if I treat you the exact same way Junker treats me?” 

“You—what?” Draco’s throat suddenly closed, clogged by the pounding heart trying to escape through his mouth. Love? Did she say the word love?

"I—I—I didn't mean to say that."

"Clearly not," Draco said, his mouth suddenly dry. "But now you have."

Draco crouched down because he suddenly felt too large standing over her, her face obscured by his shadow. He put his hands on either side of her knees to steady himself, refraining from touching her as he so wanted to do.

"Did I hear you correctly?"

Recovering quickly from her slip, she lifted her nose in the air as if she’d always meant to say those words and wouldn’t apologize for them. "Yes."

"And how long have you... entertained this idea."

"Since Tuesday. I went to Malfoy Manor when I returned to England. I don't know if I was going to tell you then, or if I just needed to see you to confirm it." She paused, uncertainty in her gaze the way she looked up at him now. “You didn’t tell me you left home.” 

Draco pressed his lips tightly together, unsure of what to say.

But Ginny had shown him such bravery by telling him what had happened in Paris, admitting she’d been wrong. She didn’t have to. There were so many things she didn’t have to do, because Draco was nothing to her, not really, and yet she kept surprising him by doing those things. By trusting him, relying on him, even though he knew it cost her something to rely on anyone.

His throat suddenly felt thick, and horror overcame him at the same time that the impulse to cry did. He couldn’t let her see him like that, weak and low, so he withdrew from her, turned away and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

His cloak, which he still hadn’t removed, suffocated him, choked him.

“I…. was going to tell you when you got back.” He cleared his throat and hoped she couldn’t hear the wobble in his voice. “It just happened Sunday.”

“What happened?”

Draco could tell she hadn’t moved, and he was grateful for the distance she maintained between them. He didn’t know what he would do if she touched him again, if he saw concern or scorn in her eyes. Fall apart maybe.

His eyes stung and his nose was starting to run; he resisted the urge to wipe it along his sleeve like a grubby child.

“She was going to arrange my marriage. When I told her I wouldn’t go through with it, she told me I wasn’t man enough.” 

It sounded so stupid when he said it out loud. What did it even mean to be a man? What was so great about masculinity? Women carried a silent strength—the strength to lie to an evil wizard’s face and turn the tide of a war—the strength to bear harassment in silence. What made their strength inferior to a man’s physical brawn, to his dominance? “I’m staying with Pansy and Theodore for now.”

More silence, and Draco let himself bow his head and rub his eyes, sniffling hard to stem his emotion before it turned into an avalanche. There was no way Ginny wouldn’t know he was on the verge of tears. There was no hiding it even with his back turned.

But she stayed where she was. She didn’t move. Only after his hands had descended to his sides and he’d straightened again, only then did she say, “That was a brave thing to defy your mother. It must have been difficult to leave.”

“Yes,” he said, choking on those traitorous, suppressed tears.

More silence as she allowed him to pull himself together, and then, when he could postpone it no more, he turned around.

She was still sitting on the sofa, and she wore a despicable expression. Pity. That's what he saw. Maybe that wasn't what she felt right then, but that's how he interpreted the slant of her eyebrows, the brackets at the corners of her mouth, those brown eyes, shiny as if filled with her own tears.

"I love you, Draco. You're man enough for me."

He scowled. "You don't even know me."

"I know." Her quick agreement surprised him, but he forced himself not to show it. "It's absolutely ridiculous for me to feel this way after such a short time together, after the history we share. You're the wrong person for me, except that you're not. There's more to you than you show everyone."

"I don't _want_ anyone to know about this." He gestured at himself, frustrated with her and her romantic portrayal of his patheticness. She'd once vehemently denied his pathetic nature, scolded him for believing anyone who ever threw that word at him, and his relief, his gratitude, had overwhelmed him. Well, he didn't feel relief or gratitude anymore. He just felt angry. "Why should I believe a word you say? You're the only person in the world who doesn't think I'm a sorry excuse for a man, and the only reason you don't is because you don't know enough about me to take those words back."

"Draco—" She made a move as if to stand but then aborted it. "There's nothing wrong with you. People will tell you there is—Pansy did, your mother did, society would if you ever gave them another reason to. But it's okay for you to feel emotions other than anger. It's okay for you to express them. It's unhealthy to bottle—"

"What am I feeling, then? If you're such an expert on this, what emotions am I too scared to express?"

His body blazed with heat, and Ginny finally did stand, but he recoiled, partially afraid that if she came too close, he'd burn her, too. There was something vicious and savage inside him, begging to be released, aching to shred her to pieces for suggesting that having a weakness, showing it, would make him strong. She didn't understand anything, and he didn't know how to explain it to her, either.

A scowl transformed her expression, ridding it of the softness and the pity Draco so despised. Yes, this is what he needed from her. Displeasure, dislike, anger. She needed to wake up and see him for who he really was, not some idealized version of himself that she could moon over.

"I refuse to speak for you. You need to figure out what you're feeling and deal with it."

She approached him and he stepped back again, continuing until his shoulders met a wall, crushing some leafy, ropy art piece that adorned it.

"You can talk to me, Draco. I'll listen, and I won't judge you. How can I? After years of not speaking to each other, I told you I was receiving unwanted sexual advances from my supervisor and you didn't tell me I should feel flattered to have caught someone's interest. You didn't tell me I should be grateful that someone else wanted me when not even Harry did. You didn't ask me what I'd done to ensnare Junker or question my wardrobe. You didn't suggest that I take advantage of the situation to seek a raise or a promotion. You listened to me, and you were disgusted on my behalf, and you agreed to help me. You may think you had selfish reasons for doing so back then, but you have done nothing in these last few weeks to make me fear you or dislike you or distrust you. Maybe you're really good at hiding your depravity. Maybe I'm a fool for believing you've changed. But you have been nothing but supportive and decent to me, and I love you. You need to accept it."

She spun away from him with a growl and commenced pacing around her tiny, cluttered living room.

"And don't try to tell me that all I feel is gratitude toward you, that I'd feel this way for any man in your position."

"I wouldn't dare tell a Gryffindor how she's feeling." Though his tone was sardonic, there was a hint of warmth in it that he couldn’t suppress.

They stared at each other, into each other, until Draco's temper began to cool, until rationality returned to him again. He took deep breaths, in and out, praying for equilibrium. Ginny had a way of disturbing his composure, so it took longer than usual to regain control of himself.

"I don't know why you have so much faith in me."

She shrugged. "I don't either, to be honest. But I'm stubborn, and you can't deter me once I've set my mind to something."

"I'm well aware."

Her tentative smile returned, trying to coax one out of him. Even though Draco was stable once more, he couldn't muster a smile for her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and Ginny’s grin grew more confident.

“I can’t guarantee that you won’t, but a good place to start is by listening to me. When I say stop, please stop. When I say keep going, then keep going.”

He stepped away from the wall and into the center of the room, his heart loud against his ears. “What are you saying right now?”

She reached for his hand and kissed his palm, and Draco’s breath hitched as he felt her fingers trembling against his. But she didn’t push him away, she didn’t say no, and she definitely didn’t say stop. Her head tilted, her eyes so warm and brown and certain. How could she be so certain around him?

“Keep going,” she said, and Draco closed his eyes, letting that acceptance wash through him like a wave.

The hand she held came up to her face, stroking her cheek, and Draco leaned in until fingers against his lips made him pause.

“What are _you_ saying?” she asked, her words mere breath.

Draco didn’t have to consider his answer. There was no question here, no turmoil, no revulsion when he thought about Ginny naked and flush against him. He wanted her. The fact that she cared about his own comfort, that she made an effort to ease him as if he deserved to be eased, made him want her more.

He could see she wanted him, too. Her body canted toward him, anticipation curving her spine as she waited for his response. Her lips were slightly parted, but, as close as she was, he couldn’t feel or hear her breath. She was holding it, preparing herself for his answer.

“Don’t stop,” he said. His body thrummed with a ravenous longing, heat blazing through him as he briefly considered the implications of his words. “Dear Salazar, please don’t stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I was having difficulty with the second half. So, because you guys are awesome and I hate to keep you waiting, I decided to go ahead and post the first half of what I'd written. I'll leave it to you to decide if this was a gift or a tease. ;)

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sunny's Prompt #3:**  
>  **Basic premise:** Draco and Ginny start publicly dating for reasons other than actually liking each other.  
>  **Must haves:** The pair put on a very convincing act even though they really don't like what they have to do...at least at first. The ruse goes on for a while and in the meantime they're learning more and more surprising things about the other. Humor.  
>  **No-no's:** A dark or very angsty story.  
>  **Rating range:** The higher the better, but ultimately up to you. I really don't mind.  
>  **Bonus points:** Hogwarts Era. Draco and Ginny get competitive about one-upping each other to show how they're the best girlfriend/boyfriend ever, and when no one is looking they snipe at each other about how lame/stupid their 'romantic' act was or snark together about how ridiculous everyone else is to think that said gesture was so romantic. E.g. "If I actually came home to that and you were my real boyfriend, I'd bloody kill you."


End file.
